I^Homemihe 


Ft§ldof^^M^ 


LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 

PRESENTED  BY 

Dame  Judith  Anderson 


MY  HOME   IN  THE 
FIELD   OF   MERCY 

FRANCES  WILSON  HUARD 


(]a.t^  -    '^/  T 


THE    CHATEAU    DE    VILLIERS 


MY  HOME  IN  THE 
FIELD  OF  MERCY 


BY 

FRANCES  WILSON  HUARD 

AUTHOR  OF    "my  HOME  IN  THE  FIELD  OF  HONOUR" 


WITH   DRAWINGS   BY   CHARLES   HUARD 


NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1917,  BY 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN    COMPANY 


PRINTED   IN   THE   UNITED   STATES   OF  AMERICA 


To 

My  Dear  Friends 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  David  Z.  Norton 

in  remembrance  of  whose  truly 

parental  affection  this  book 

is  lovingly  inscribed 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

The  Chateau  de  Villieks Frontispiece 

PAGE 

In  the  Army  Zone  of  France 22 

The  Retreat  from  Charleroy  to  the  Marne    44 

Amed-ben-Mohamed,  Nini's  Arab,  who  be- 
longed to  our  Moroccan  troops 74 

Someone  got  news  that  his  family  had  fled 
during  the  invasion 118 

Not  a  single  house  had  been  exempt  from 
shell-fire 128 

View  of  Soissons  from  the  Pont  de  Villeneuve  142 

The  College  Door,  Soissons 168 

"You  UNDERSTAND,  MaDAME,  YOU  ARE  IN  THE 
TRENCHES,  YOU  ARE  HUNGRY,  THE  DINNER  IS 
LATE   IN   coming" 196 

The  LONELINESS  OF  THE  ROADS — IN  PEACE  TIMES 
ALWAYS  ALIVE  WITH  TRAFFIC  AND  PLEASURE- 
CARS  214 

Entrance  to   the  trenches  near  the  Pont- 

Neuf,  Soissons 238 

Calm  amid  the  general  tumult 258 


MY  HOME  IN  THE  FIELD  OF  MERCY 


MY  HOME  IN  THE  FIELD  OF 
MERCY 


Triumphantly  we  hoisted  the  Red  Cross 
flag.  George  had  found  it  and  dug  it  out  from 
beneath  numerous  layers  of  filth  in  the  cow- 
stable,  Yvonne  had  washed  it  (without  soap — 
we  had  none)  and  all  of  us  had  taken  turns 
coaxing  it  to  dry  so  that  it  would  float  proudly 
when  finally  pulled  to  the  top  of  the  mast  which 
with  great  difficulty  had  been  made  fast  to  one 
of  the  pinions  of  the  chateau. 

It  was  no  easy  task  this  re-instating  a  hos- 
pital at  a  moment's  notice.  To  bring  order  out 
of  the  chaos  that  had  been  wrought  by  the  Hun, 
especially  as  we  had  neither  utensils,  washing 
soda  nor  matches,  was  not  only  fatiguing  but 
at  times  disheartening.  And  it  was,  therefore, 
with  no  undue  pride  that  we  crowned  our  suc- 
cessful efforts  by  raising  the  banner  of  Mercy. 

Despair,  that  had  seized  us  all  on  our  return 
from  a  rather  nerve  racking,  adventurous  fort- 

[11] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

night  spent  on  the  highroad  as  refugees,  gave 
way  to  a  mad  desire  to  eradicate  as  quickly  as 
possible  every  trace  of  the  invader.  A  new  life 
surged  through  our  veins  when  it  was  an- 
nounced that  the  Chateau  de  Villiers  was  actu- 
ally to  become  a  military  hospital.  Then  we 
were  really  going  to  serve  our  countiy!  At 
last !  The  loud  and  persistent  rumbling  of  the 
none  too  far  distant  cannon  told  us  we  could 
be  ready  none  too  soon. 

Up  until  the  moment  that  an  officer  had 
driven  into  the  yard,  and  informed  me  the  mili- 
tary authority  needed  my  home,  I  must  confess 
that  I  had  viewed  my  situation  in  rather  a  dole- 
ful light.  Ten  days  of  superintending  the 
shovelling  out  and  burying  the  filth  that  had 
been  my  most  cherished  possessions  had  a  bit 
unnerved  me,  and  the  very  rough  food  we  had 
to  nourish  us  somewhat  aggravated  a  long  sus- 
pected case  of  appendicitis. 

In  spite  of  my  every  reproof  Yvonne  would 
continually  and  audibly  mourn  over  the  wanton 
destruction  of  my  poultry  and  cattle,  while 
George's  profane  vocabulary  augmented  daily 
in  volume  and  picturesqueness.  As  to  Betsy, 
the  Boston  bull,  she  of  the  sugar  box  fame,  one 

[12] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

morning  she  tiptoed  on  three  legs  into  the 
kitchen,  rolled  a  wistful  glance  over  the  un- 
savoury concoction  with  which  we  were  essay- 
ing to  remove  grease  from  the  tiled  floor,  gave 
one  resentful  sniff,  and  retired  in  high  dudgeon 
to  the  rabbit  holes  in  the  sand  quarry  accom- 
panied by  the  old  fox  hound  who  evidently 
thought  that  vicinity  more  propitious  for  the 
recounting  of  his  experiences  during  our  ab- 
sence. 

And  now  I  come  to  think  of  it  I  believe  it 
was  Betsy  who  brought  to  mind  the  fact 
that  I  had  buried  two  trunkfuls  of  H.'s  etch- 
ings and  drawings.  She  would  wander  in 
each  evening  at  dusk  and  begin  a  series  of  con- 
tortions on  what  remained  of  the  greensward, 
trying  vainly  to  remove  the  sand  that  had 
stuck  to  her  eyelids  and  made  them  smart.  It 
was  while  helping  brush  it  away  that  I  thought 
of  the  quarry.  So  the  next  morning,  armed 
with  the  most  primitive  instruments  (the 
Germans  had  appropriated  everything  in  the 
way  of  farming  implements )  we  sallied  forth  in 
quest  of  our  belongings. 

On  that  eventful  night  some  four  or  five 
weeks  since,  when  I  had  been  ordered  to  evacu- 

[13] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

ate  my  home,  to  flee  before  the  oncoming  Ger- 
man hordes,  I  had  taken  with  me  Madame 
Guix,  my  nurse  sent  from  Soissons  in  the  early 
days  of  the  war,  to  help  establish  my  hospital : 
George  and  Leon,  farm  hands  under  military 
age:  Emile,  who  had  brought  me  marching 
orders:  Yvonne  and  Nini,  two  youthful  maid 
servants  in  my  employ,  and  Julie,  an  older 
woman  of  the  village  who  with  her  family  had 
followed  in  our  wake. 

At  present  my  household  was  somewhat  de- 
pleted. Madame  Guix  had  remained  in  Rebais 
to  care  for  the  wounded:  Emile  and  Leon  had 
left  us  at  Melun,  journeying  to  Fontainebleau 
to  enlist,  and  Julie,  finding  her  own  home  in  as 
sorry  a  plight  as  mine,  was  obliged  to  devote 
her  every  moment  to  setting  it  to  rights. 

So  now  this  morning  it  was  rather  a  meagre 
staff  that  trod  up  the  hill  towards  the  quarry. 
There  were  only  four  of  us ;  Yvonne  and  Nini, 
George  and  myself.  The  two  former  mere 
children  incapable  of  exhausting  labour. 

A  glance  at  the  quarry  told  us  that  either  our 
hiding  place  had  been  discovered,  or  others  had 
had  the  same  idea  as  we  about  burying  things  in 
the  sand.    Our  curiosity  stimulated,  we  set  to 

[14] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 


digging  with  ardour  in  what  George  indicated 
as  the  proper  locahty,  I  pausing  only  to  wipe 
the  beads  from  my  brow  or  to  remonstrate  with 
George  whose  verbal  quahfications  of  his  hast- 
ily hand-made  shovel,  while  novel,  were  hardly 
fit  for  our  ears. 

Presently  the  boy  plunged  the  spade  deep 
into  the  moist  sand,  and  then  after  a  second's 
pause  during  which  he  bent  over  the  excava- 
tion he  hfted  his  head  and  I  noted  that  his  face 
wore  a  queer  expression. 

"Was  one  of  those  trunks  we  buried  made  of 
leather,  Madame?" 

"No!    Why?" 

"Hum;  well  I  have  hit  something  that 
resists,  and  don't  you  smell  that  funny  odour?" 

I  sniffed  in  that  direction.  A  second  later  a 
nauseating  whiff  greeted  my  nostrils,  and 
dropping  my  spade  I  jumped  clear  of  the 
quarry  bidding  the  others  follow.  The  girls 
had  guessed  my  thoughts  and  we  stood  there 
gaping  at  each  other  while  uncanny  ideas  com- 
menced whirring  through  my  brain. 

"George!" 

"Madame?" 

"Fill  in  that  hole  and  come  away  at  once." 

[15] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF   MERCY 

"Why?" 

"Why?  Can't  you  see  that  someone  is  buried 
there?  Be  he  French  or  German  we  have  no 
right  to  be  poking  about  in  his  grave." 

The  boy  cast  another  shovelful  aside. 

"Have  the  Germans  got  cloven  hoofs?"  he 
queried. 

"No.   But  they  ought  to  have." 

"And  long  hairy  tails?" 

No  longer  able  to  restrain  my  curiosity  I 
jumped  beside  the  lad,  cast  my  eyes  down- 
ward, and  beheld — a  cow's  hoof  and  tail  pro- 
truding from  the  earth. 

I  breathed  again.  Thank  God,  that  was  all. 
Much  relieved  I  soon  realised  that  the  debris 
of  the  quadruped  had  been  hastily  interred 
here  to  prevent  disease  spreading,  and  the  next 
thing  to  be  done  was  to  discover  at  just  what 
angle  the  animal  was  buried,  so  that  if  possible 
the  trunks  might  be  got  at  by  digging  further 
away.  Presently  we  had  made  our  calculations 
and  in  a  couple  of  hom-s'  time  the  objects  of 
our  quest  stood  high  and  dry  on  the  grass. 

George  and  I  were  not  strong  enough  to  lift 
them  into  our  cart,  so  they  had  to  be  opened  on 
the  spot  and  their  contents  transferred  to  the 

[16] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

waggon.  And  while  audibly  congratulating 
the  boy  for  having  buried  them  so  deep  that  no 
harm  had  come  to  the  drawings,  I  inwardly 
berated  myself  for  having  made  such  hasty 
choice  among  them,  and  a  big  Imnp  rose  in  my 
throat  as  I  thought  of  all  those  that  left  in 
the  studio  cupboards  had  been  destroyed  or 
stolen. 

In  the  meantime  the  emblem  of  mercy  was 
proudly  waving  in  the  wind  and  sunset  found 
the  excavating  party  weary  and  exultant,  but 
having  accomplished  little  that  day  towards 
the  immediate  installation  of  a  hospital. 

As  far  as  we  were  concerned  the  actual  prep- 
aration for  receiving  wounded  men  was  limited. 
Our  task  consisted  in  scouring  the  apartments 
and  getting  into  line  such  of  my  beds  as  had 
been  left  with  mattresses,  and  the  sorting  out 
of  every  odd  and  end  that  might  be  of  service. 

Every  sanitary  arrangement  had  been  de- 
stroyed beyond  repair,  likewise  the  electric 
light  plant,  the  furnace  and  even  the  kitchen 
stove.  The  latter  being  of  great  importance, 
however,  we  managed  to  patch  it  up  with  some 
half  dozen  bricks  and  lived  in  the  hope  that  we 
might  be  able  to  obtain  coal. 

[17] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

In  fact  every  tui'n,  every  step,  during  those 
first  awful  weeks  had  brought  a  surprise  of  one 
kind  or  another :  some  disheartening,  some 
comic — ^the  latter  only  when  one  could  get 
away  from  the  personal  side  of  the  question 
long  enough  to  appreciate  the  minute  and  sys- 
tematic working  out  of  minor  details  to  make 
a  campaign  of  frightfulness  and  destruction 
complete. 

It  was  thus  when  things  had  been  prac- 
tically set  to  rights  that  I  found  myself  won- 
dering why  certain  unmentionable  articles  of 
female  attire  had  alone  been  chosen  to  remove 
the  pot-black  from  the  kettles  employed  by 
General  Von  Kluck's  chef.  One  by  one  we 
had  'fished  them  out  with  a  stick  from  a  little 
recess  behind  the  stove,  indescribable  bundles 
of  tattered  embroidery,  ribbons  and  filth,  and 
one  by  one  we  had  dropped  them  into  the  ash 
can  on  its  way  to  the  great  gaping  dunghole. 

Why  not  my  night  robes?  I  wondered. 
There  is  infinitely  more  cloth  in  them.  They 
would  have  been  far  more  practical  for  the  pur- 
pose. 

The  latter  had  disappeared  en  masse;  not 
a  vestige  of  them  was  to  be  found  anywhere. 

[18] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEKCY 

A  couple  of  days  later  I  had  a  visit  from 
my  neighbour  Mother  Poupard,  who  with  her 
husband  and  two  little  grandsons  had  remained 
during  the  invasion.  She  had  managed  to  hide 
a  couple  of  hens  under  an  empty  barrel  in  her 
cellar  and  had  come  to  offer  me  her  first  fresh 
eggs.    I  accepted  gladly  and  we  talked. 

Mother  Poupard  was  loquacious,  at  times 
almost  eloquent  in  her  qualification  of  the  in- 
vaders' actions,  and  when  I  asked  her  if  she  had 
an  inkhng  as  to  what  they  had  done  with  my 
missing  lingerie  the  question  brought  forth  a 
stream  of  aphorisms  which  bordered  on  the 
humorous. 

"Your  nightgowns,  Madame?  Ah,  Sainte 
Vierge  Marie  protect  us!  ah,  the  vandals!  I 
saw  them.  They  needn't  think  I  didn't.  I 
would  like  to  have  one  of  them  right  here  this 
minute.  I  would  make  him  tell  you  how  after 
they  got  through  washing  in  the  river  they  went 
in  and  robbed  your  cupboards.  All  Monsieur's 
shirts  first,  and  after  that  your  nightgowns. 
Yes,  Madame,  the  Lord  is  my  witness.  They 
put  them  on  and  went  strutting  up  and  down 
the  village  with  those  Irish  lace  collars  that 
Catherine  spent  so  much  time  making,  hanging 

[19] 


MY    HOME    IN    TPIE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

out  over  their  dirty  uniforms.  Ah,  Madame, 
the  pity!  and  when  one  of  them  came  over  'To 
borrow'  some  brandy  from  Father,  I  up  and 
said  what  I  thought.  And  what  do  you  sup- 
pose he  answered?" 

"What?" 

"He  came  right  out  in  French  and  remarked 
that  it  was  a  pity  all  the  women  in  France  were 
not  as  big  as  Madame  so  the  whole  German 
army  could  have  clean  shirts  every  week." 

I  laughed.  After  all  this  was  harmless 
amusement.  But  brawny  Mother  Poupard 
failed  to  see  the  humour  of  the  situation  and 
went  on  extolling  her  losses  at  great  length,  in 
fact  to  such  length  that  a  bit  hardened  by  my 
experiences  I  fancy  I  lent  but  one  ear  to  the 
conversation  and  my  mind  wandered  to  many 
little  homes  in  the  village  where  innocent 
women  had  remained  and  borne  the  brunt  of 
invasion  otherwise  than  by  the  loss  of  their 
household  belongings.  Alas,  must  war  be  ever 
thus.  .  .  . 

My  attention  was  caught  anew  by  Mother 
Poupard's  last  phrase : 

"You  can't  trust  any  of  them!  Not  even  the 
best.    They  are  all  alike.    Those  quartered  on 

r  20  ] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

US  played  so  nicely  with  little  John.  We  had 
confidence  in  them.  He  wasn't  a  bit  afraid. 
They  took  him  on  their  knees  just  as  they  did 
me  in  1870.  He  liked  them,  poor  darling,  he 
didn't  know  who  they  were.  He  used  to  bring 
in  his  toys  to  show  them.  One  day  he  asked  for 
his  jack-in-the-box,  the  lovely  one  Madame 
gave  him  two  years  ago  Christmas.  I  treas- 
ured it  in  the  ar moire;  such  a  lovely  toy,  I 
used  to  bring  it  out  when  we  had  company.  It 
was  such  a  distraction.  I  cannot  think  what 
made  the  child  want  it.  I  had  hidden  it.  Well, 
he  went  on  so  that  finally  I  had  to  go  and  get 
it — it  was  against  my  will  though.  They  put 
it  on  the  table  and  Polichmelle  jmnped  up 
and  down  on  his  long  spring  delighting  them 
all.  Then  that  innocent  lamb  in  the  midst  of 
his  excitement  called  out  'C'est  un  Boclie'/ 
Ah,  Madame,  Madame!  they  shook  the  poor 
httle  soul  until  I  thought  his  head  would  drop 
off  and  throwing  Polichinelle  on  the  floor  they 
stamped  on  it,  all  the  while  shouting  so  loud 
and  so  roughly  and  pointing  to  Johnny. 
What  a  misfortune,  what  a  loss!  such  an  ex- 
pensive toy!" 

How  useless,  I  thought. 

[21] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

From  what  has  ah-eady  been  said  it  is  easy 
to  perceive  that  prospects  in  general  were 
scarcely  encouraging,  but  as  the  fine  weather 
still  continued  our  spirits  rose  and  our  desire 
to  render  ourselves  useful  sharpened  our  wits 
and  taught  us  to  make  the  best  of  the  situation. 
We  all  knew  from  sad  experience  that  it  might 
have  been  far  worse. 

So  arduous  were  our  daily  duties  that  we  had 
httle  time  for  reflection,  and  for  this  I  heartily 
thanked  heaven.  The  days  were  beginning  to 
grow  shorter  and  shorter  and  I  seemed  to  dread 
the  long  Autumn  evenings  when  nothing  save 
the  huge  open  fireplace,  which  served  at  once 
as  range,  radiator  and  light,  sent  forth  its 
kindly  glow,  and  hushed  the  tongues  of  the 
youth  clustered  about  it,  making  all  the  more 
solemn  the  booming  of  the  great  guns  through 
the  darkness. 

I  fully  realised  now,  what  a  wonderful,  nay 
almost  sacred  thing  was  our  confidence  in  our 
men,  our  army.  For  though  living  in  total 
ignorance  of  what  had  befallen  my  husband, 
all  of  us  torn  by  the  greatest  moral  agony  for 
those  we  loved,  alone,  unprotected,  isolated 
from  the  entire  world  in  the  army  zone  of 

[22] 


// 


..:-.:i-V^ii'''^~'^-?©^ ' ' 


■^'-^X^:^:--'- 


■:;r^^^- 


.^ja>^Z 


IN     THl';    AKUY    Z(»NK    OF    FRANTE 


MY   HOME    IN   THE   FIELD    OF   MERCY 

France,  scarce  a  score  of  miles  from  the  scenes 
of  ghastly  carnage — never,  never  for  a  single 
moment  did  we  fear  lest  we  had  returned  too 
soon.  We  seemed  to  know  that  we  had  come 
home  for  good. 

Our  humble  evening  meal  was  almost  invari- 
ably composed  of  vegetable  soup  and  a  few  ripe 
grapes,  the  former  ladled  from  the  steaming 
kettle  that  hung  on  a  tripod  in  the  chimney. 
And  then  afterwards  how  often  have  I  crept 
away  to  bed  drawing  a  pair  of  damp  sheets 
about  me  in  the  chill  darkness  of  my  room, 
totally  indifferent  to  existing  conditions,  only 
mindful  of  the  Kind  Destiny  that  had  so 
shaped  my  ends  as  to  earn  me  the  right  to  say 
"We"  when  speaking  of  the  French. 

Slowly  but  surely  things  were  beginning  to 
get  into  shape.  There  were  only  a  few  more 
beds  to  be  set  up  and  the  day  fixed  for  the 
arrival  of  the  military  motor  which  was  to 
whisk  me  to  Rebais  in  quest  of  my  nurse,  was 
rapidly  approaching.  "A  few  beds  to  set  up" 
may  not  mean  much  to  the  ordinary  human 
being,  but  I  assure  you  I  quickly  reahsed  it 
was    by   no   means   a   one   man   proposition. 

[23] 


MY    HOME    IX    THE   FIELD    OF   MEKCY 

George  had  promised  his  help  but  it  seemed  to 
me  I  could  never  put  my  hand  on  him.  Just 
when  I  needed  him  most  the  kitchen  garden 
(such  of  it  as  remained)  apparently  required 
his  immediate  attention,  or  else  it  was  the 
quinces  to  be  picked,  or  the  mangles  to  be 
brought  in.  Always  some  good  excuse  to  be 
away  from  the  chateau  a  couple  of  hours  each 
day. 

I  paid  little  attention  to  the  matter,  but  early 
one  morning  as  I  looked  through  the  paneless 
sash  of  what  had  once  been  my  bedroom  win- 
dow and  glanced  down  the  long  driveway  I 
caught  sight  of  George  coming  in  the  gate, 
heavily  laden  with  some  queer  trappings  and 
tenderly  bearing  an  indistinguishable  object  in 
his  arms.  He  cast  a  furtive  glance  towards 
the  chateau,  which  aroused  my  curiosity,  so 
I  determined  to  question  him  at  once,  but  on 
my  way  downstairs  to  breakfast  my  attention 
was  diverted,  so  the  morning  passed  and  the 
matter  slipped  my  mind. 

A  moment  before  luncheon,  however,  I  hap- 
pened to  turn  the  handle  of  the  door  leading 
into  what  had  formerly  been  our  tool  room. 
I   stood  spell  bound  at  the  threshold  every 

[24] 


MY    HOME    IX    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

hair  on  my  head  fairly  rising  in  terror.  On  the 
floor  and  shelves  of  the  entire  place  were  strewn 
unexploded  shells  of  every  kind  and  calibre,  a 
perfect  arsenal,  and  in  the  midst  of  it  all  on  an 
empty  upturned  gasolene  can  sat  my  farm 
boy,  hugging  a  German  77  mm.  shell  between 
his  knees  and  struggling  vainly  to  insert  his 
jack-knife  between  its  steel  bindings. 

"George!"  I  gasped,  when  I  had  sufficiently 
recovered  to  find  my  voice.  "What  on  earth 
are  you  doing?" 

"Opening  a  German  shell." 

"But—" 

"It  is  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world.  I  saw 
an  artillery  man  at  Melun  do  it,  and  yesterday 
I  manacled  this  one  beautifullv." 

He  held  up  the  butt  of  a  German  77  mm. 
Visions  of  how  we  might  all  have  been  rapidly 
blown  to  another  world  through  the  careless 
shp  of  that  boy's  knife  flitted  swiftly  through 
my  head. 

"But  it  is  madness,  George." 

He  didn't  seem  much  impressed  and  while 
collecting  my  faculties  I  cast  a  rapid  glance 
around  the  room.  From  pegs  driven  into  the 
wall  dangled  military  harnessings  and  trap- 

[25] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD   OF   MERCY 

pings  of  every  description ;  the  place  was  a  per- 
fect museum,  and  as  I  advanced  towards  the 
shelf  beneath  the  window  I  caught  sight  of  a 
battered  can  half  full  of  what  seemed  to  be 
dried  tea  leaves. 

"What's  this  in  here?" 

"German  powder." 

Ye  Gods !  Residence  atop  an  active  volcano 
would  surely  have  been  as  safe  as  was  the 
Chateau  de  Villiers  under  existing  cu'cum- 
stances.    I  put  my  foot  down  fii-mly. 

"Where  on  earth  did  you  get  all  this 
stuff?" 

"Out  in  the  fields  around  here.  Every  boy 
in  the  place  is  making  a  collection  but  mine  is 
the  most  complete  up  to  date,"  was  the  proud 
reply. 

"I  know,  but  these  things  don't  belong  to 
you.  They  are  not  even  French",  I  retorted, 
my  eyes  fixed  on  a  wheel  belonging  to  a  Ger- 
man gun  carriage  that  had  been  rolled  in  to 
join  the  other  trophies. 

"Don't  belong  to  me?"  the  lad's  eyes  kindled. 
"Did  anything  in  this  place  belong  to  them? 
No!  But  they  took  it  just  the  same,  didn't 
they?    Everything  that  pleased  them  and  more 

[26] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

too.  So  what's  a  handful  of  relics  like  this  in 
comparison?" 

The  argument  was  clear.  There  was  no  an- 
swer. So  I  entrenched  myself  behind  the 
powder  question,  soundly  scolding  the  boy  for 
his  imprudence,  in  daring  to  bring  so  much 
dangerous  stuff  into  the  house. 

"But  George,"  I  argued,  "what  on  earth 
did  you  intend  doing  with  them  supposing  fate 
had  permitted  you  to  open  these  shells  un- 
harmed?" 

"Save  enough  powder  to  make  a  handful  of 
cartridges  in  case  I  could  patch  up  my  gun,  and 
then  with  the  rest  mine  the  gate  over  the  moat." 

"AVhat?" 

"Yes!  Do  you  think  I  would  let  any  Ger- 
man force  me  to  take  to  the  highroad  a  second 
time  to  escape  him?  Not  much!  If  ever  they 
were  to  break  through  and  reach  this  place 
again  they  might  start  over  our  bridge,  but  I'll 
bet  you  not  many  of  them  would  arrive  whole 
inside  the  gate.  I  might  have  to  go  up  in 
the  air  with  them,  but  a  hundred  to  one  is  a 
pretty  good  proposition." 

All  this  was  said  without  the  slightest  trace  of 
boasting  either  in  the  lad's  speech  or  manner, 

[27] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF   MERCY 

and  proved  to  me  how  deeply  even  this  care- 
free, hghthearted  boy  had  been  impressed  by 
the  savage  vandahsm  of  the  Prussians. 

Gently  then  did  I  try  to  persuade  him  that 
it  were  better  to  leave  such  thoughts  of  re- 
venge in  more  competent  hands,  and  I  was 
about  to  propose  that  an  isolated  barn  would 
be  an  excellent  place  for  trophy  museums  in 
general,  black  powder  and  unexploded  shells 
in  particular,  when  a  cry  of  joy  arising  from 
the  kitchen  sent  us  hurrying  in  that  direction. 

"Madame,  Madame",  called  Yvonne  and 
Nini.  "They've  come  back !  they've  come  back !" 

"Who?" 

"Emile  and  Leon." 

Through  the  doorway  I  caught  sight  of  the 
two  lads  who  had  left  us  at  Melun  to  enlist  in 
the  army.  Ragged  and  footsore,  thin  as  rails 
but  beaming  with  joy  at  our  cordial  welcome, 
the  tired  travellers  stalked  in. 

"How  did  you  come?  Why  didn't  they  take 
you?  What's  the  latest  news?"  were  only  a 
few  of  the  numerous  questions  that  were  hurled 
at  them  in  a  breath. 

And  from  their  replies  I  gathered  that  they 
had  been  sent  from  Fontainebleau  to  Orleans 

[28] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

(at  their  own  expense)  to  a  recruiting  station. 
Once  there,  so  many  were  the  appHcants  that 
they  had  to  wait  two  days  in  hne.  Board  and 
lodging  had  quickly  consumed  the  meagre  sum 
they  possessed  between  them,  and  when  finally 
their  turn  came  they  were  refused  because  they 
had  no  papers,  no  way  of  identifying  them- 
selves. So  empty  handed,  they  had  started 
home  on  foot,  a  distance  of  about  one  hundred 
and  eighty  miles,  and  from  the  way  they  par- 
took of  our  dry  bread  and  unsweetened  stewed 
fruit  I  judged  they  had  not  fared  too  well  dur- 
ing their  hike.  In  the  midst  of  their  story 
which  bid  fair  to  be  interminable,  George  car- 
ried them  off  to  his  trophy  room,  and  through 
the  partition  I  could  hear  vigorous  exclama- 
tions of  delight  and  admiration. 

The  following  day  a  member  of  the  Engi- 
neer Corps  who  had  been  sent  out  to  explore 
the  fields  and  set  off  any  unexploded  shells, 
called  on  me  and  in  the  course  of  his  conversa- 
tion expressed  his  surprise  that  so  few  projec- 
tiles had  been  found  in  our  immediate  vicinity. 
I  smiled  and  led  him  to  the  old  barn. 

"Je  comprends/'  was  all  he  said. 

I  had  not  the  heart  to  hand  the  trophies  all 

[29] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

over  to  him  without  first  telling  George.  The 
boy  took  the  news  like  a  man  and  promised  to 
deliver  them  the  following  morning.  And 
though  I  have  never  questioned  him  I  have  a 
feeling  that  years  hence  we  will  unearth  in  some 
obscure  corner  a  German  helmet  or  shell,  rem- 
nants of  his  collector's  mania. 

Nor  were  Teuton  relics  the  only  kind  to 
be  had  in  our  neighbourhood.  Every  once  in  a 
while  the  boys  who  spent  each  available  mo- 
ment in  the  garden,  would  come  in  bearing 
some  souvenir  of  the  passing  Moroccan  troops, 
some  reminder  of  the  British  occupation. 
Among  others  was  a  package  of  letters  mailed 
to  a  gunner  in  the  Royal  Artillery  and  found 
scattered  on  the  floor  of  the  greenhouse.  Each 
envelope  was  addressed  in  a  clear,  upright  fem- 
inine hand,  and  on  the  back  where  the  flap 
closes  were  numerous  little  crosses,  tokens  of 
affection  such  as,  when  children,  we  used  to 
put  at  the  conclusion  of  letters  to  our  parents. 
Poor  little  missives;  how  had  they  come  there? 
Why  had  they  not  been  delivered?  What  was 
I  to  do  with  them? 

At  the  extreme  end  of  the  driveway  I  could 
hear  Johnny  Poupard  and  his  brother  trotting 

[30] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF   MEKCY 

down  the  highroad  calhng  "Une  auto!    Deux 
autos!    Des  officiers!    They're  stopping!" 

I  put  the  letters  in  my  apron  pocket.  An 
automobile?  Officers?  Anything  come  from 
the  outside  world  was  an  event  and  was  hailed 
by  loud  verbal  acclamations  from  any  individ- 
ual who  happened  to  be  on  the  spot.  By  the 
time  I  reached  the  gate  I  could  see  quite  a 
group  had  gathered  around  four  large  open 
motors  that  were  slowly  winding  their  way 
down  the  village  street,  and  two  breathless 
peasant  boys  came  running  toward  us. 

"They're  English",  they  panted.  "Come 
quick,  do!  Perhaps  you  can  understand 
them." 

I  hurried  across  the  moat  just  as  the  motors 
pulled  up  to  the  gate.  A  British  Captain 
jumped  from  the  front  seat. 

"Could  you  tell  us  the  shortest  road  to 
Paris?" 

"Certainly." 

And  as  I  explained  all  the  officers  in  the  cars 
sat  forward  in  their  seats  at  hearing  their  native 
tongue  spoken  so  fluently.  As  I  talked  my 
eyes  took  in  every  detail  and  from  their  uni- 
forms I  realised  that  I  had  to  do  with  the 

[31] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEllCY 


British  General  Staff.    AVhen  I  had  finished 
the  Captain  thanked  me. 

"You  don't  belong  here,  do  you?" 

"Yes.    I  am  the  chatelaine/' 

As  I  said  this  I  thought  how  little  my  attire 
bore  out  my  statement,  for  I  was  wearing  a 
faded  crimson  sweater  and  a  soiled  velveteen 
bicycle  skirt,  the  only  things  I  possessed.  But 
to  add  to  my  embarrassment,  when  I  looked 
down  I  found  that  in  my  haste  I  had  come  out 
with  a  filthy  dust  cloth  in  my  hand.  I  put  it 
quickly  behind  my  back.  The  Captain  saw  my 
movement  and  smiled.    I  smiled  too. 

"You  didn't  stay  here  during  the  invasion?" 

"No,  I  managed  to  get  away  the  night  be- 
fore they  came  in." 

"I  thought  so.  Because  I  was  with  the  Brit- 
ish when  they  drove  them  out  of  here.  It  was 
pouring  with  rain  and  we  hoped  to  find  shelter 
in  your  house,  but  Lord!  the  filth  in  the 
place!  We  preferred  sleeping  in  the  wet.  I 
see  you  have  a  hospital  now." 

"No,  not  yet,  but  we  are  expecting  one. 

"Who  did  the  cleaning  up?" 

"We  did." 

"I  congratulate  you." 

[32] 


5> 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

He  might  have  added  "You  look  it,"  but  he 
was  too  well  bred. 

"Didn't  leave  you  much,  did  they?" 

"Not  much,  but  enough  to  offer  you  gentle- 
men a  cup  of  English  tea  if  you  don't  mind  the 
absence  of  linen."  As  I  said  that  the  officer  in 
the  further  corner  of  the  second  motor  removed 
his  goggles  and  I  recognised  General  Sir  John 
French. 

"Thank  you  for  your  courtesy",  he  said. 
"But  I  fear  we  are  a  httle  late  now.  Is  there 
anything  we  can  do  for  you?" 

"No  thank  you,  unless — " 

"Unless?" 

"Unless  you  would  care  to  see  that  these 
letters  are  turned  over  to  proper  authorities", 
said  I  fumbling  in  my  pocket.  "I  have  no  way 
of  delivering  them." 

"Certainlv,  with  pleasure.  Anything  fur- 
ther?" 

"Nothing,  I  thank  you." 

"Then,  gentlemen,  let  us  be  off." 

And  as  the  motor  rolled  away  the  General 
leaned  out  and  called  back,  "Just  wait  until 
we  get  into  Germany.  We'll  send  you  back 
their  loot." 

[33] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

So  we  returned  to  work,  encouraged  by  this 
little  glimpse  of  those  in  whose  hands  lay  our 
destiny. 

Another  day  was  absorbed  by  my  trip  to 
Rebais  where  I  sought  and  found  my  nurse, 
who  had  been  in  the  city  to  look  after  the 
wounded  and  who  had  experienced  many  ex- 
citing adventures  at  the  hands  of  the  Germans 
who  were  in  possession  of  that  vicinity  for  a 
week.  Our  tongues  wagged,  as  only  women's 
can,  all  during  our  trip,  but  at  dusk  as  we 
passed  through  Charly  (our  market  town)  I 
was  astonished  to  see  the  red  and  green  lights 
shining  forth  from  our  pharmacy  just  as  in 
normal  times.  How  strange — I  thought.  I 
don't  believe  there  is  a  handful  of  people 
in  the  town.  And  what  on  earth  has  he  to 
sell? 

But  presently  my  curiosity  was  turned  to 
practicability,  and  imagining  that  pompous  old 
Monsieur  Leveque  had  contrived  in  one  way 
or  another  to  put  his  stock  beyond  the  reach 
of  the  invader  I  resolved  to  investigate  as  soon 
as  possible  in  order  to  lay  in  a  few  necessities 
for  our  hospital. 

[34] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 


As  I  approached  his  shop  the  next  morning, 
I  noticed  that  the  plate  glass  window  was  one 
mass  of  cracks,  the  whole  thing  holding  to- 
gether by  long  strips  of  adhesive  plaster  and 
the  Grace  of  the  Almighty.  A  hand  printed 
sign  which  read  as  follows,  was  neatly  pinned 
in  the  centre  of  the  pane : — 

"Monsieur  Le  Pharmacien  Leveque  has  the 
honour  of  informing  his  numerous  customers 
that  he  is  in  measure  to  respond  to  their  de- 
mands and  that  business  will  continue  as  usual." 

"Bon  jour.  Monsieur  Leveque/' 

''Madame,  j'ai  Vlionneur  de  vous  saluerj" 

"How  fortunate  to  have  been  able  to  save 
your  stock.  Will  you  kindly  give  me  as  much 
tincture  of  iodine,  peroxide,  and  absorbent  cot- 
ton as  you  can  spare?" 

"Madame,  none  of  these  articles  is  available 
at  present." 

"Ah?" 

"No,  and  it  may  be  quite  a  while  before  I 
shall  be  able  to  procure  them.  May  I  take  your 
order?" 

I  thanked  him  and  shook  my  head.  I  should 
have  come  sooner,  thought  I — he  has  been 
bought  out.     I  continued  reading  down  the 

[35] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

long  list  Madame  Guix  had  prepared.  As  I 
mentioned  each  and  every  article  the  old  man 
waxed  eloquent  on  the  particular  reason  for 
which  the  medicament  had  been  carried  off  in 
entirety. 

"Then  if  I  were  not  presuming,  might  I 
inquire  what  you  have *f or  sale?" 

"What  they  left  me;  liver  pills,  Hunyadi 
Water,  and  a  little  bit  of  magnesia." 

I  couldn't  help  smiling.  Monsiem*  Leveque 
frowned. 

"But  why  do  you  bother  to  keep  open,  espe- 
cially in  the  evening?" 

"Because  some  one  might  need  liver  pills  and 
Hunyadi  Water  and  it  would  not  be  honest  to 
deprive  them,  and  besides  it  is  the  duty  of 
every  pharmacist  to  stick  to  his  post  to  the 
last!" 

Evidently  Monsieur  Leveque  had  been  much 
impressed  by  the  conception  of  his  own  brav- 
ery. He  had  launched  that  long-thought-out 
finishing  phrase  regardless  of  how  appropriate 
it  might  be.  I  was  apparently  the  first  one 
on  whom  he  had  occasion  to  try  it.  How 
awful  should  it  have  been  wasted!  I  appre- 
ciated his  sentiments  but  they  did  not  help  my 

[36] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

hospital  work  a  bit.  So  during  the  succeed- 
ing afternoons  Madame  Guix  and  I  spent 
our  time  driving  about  in  our  old  farm  cart, 
knocking  at  the  door  of  every  inhabited  cot- 
tage begging  the  peasants  to  lend  us  a  bed, 
a  mattress,  a  sheet  or  two,  if  thej^  still  possessed 
any,  to  swell  the  number  of  patients  our  hos- 
pital was  listed  to  receive. 

It  was  not  so  simple  a  matter  as  one  might 
imagine,  for  under  the  circumstances,  the  peas- 
ant could  not  "give",  he  could  only  "lend"; 
in  most  cases  the  bed  or  its  furnishings  be- 
longed to  a  son  or  husband  absent  fighting  for 
his  country.  Each  article  had  to  be  marked 
and  a  form  of  receipt  given  to  its  owner  and 
then  they  were  carefully  piled  into  the  back 
of  our  trap  that  was  drawn  by  my  twenty-one- 
year-old  nag. 

We  were  returning  from  one  of  these  ex- 
peditions when  on  reaching  the  home  road  late 
one  afternoon  we  heard  the  tramp  of  feet  and 
excited  voices  calling;  ^'Des  Bodies!  Des 
Bochesr 

Germans?     Where?     How? 

I  whipped  up  Cesar  and  coming  around  the 
curve  we  caught  sight  of  three  German  prison- 

[37] 


MY    HOME    IN    TPIE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

ers  stalking  down  the  street  between  our  Gen- 
darmes. 

Long,  lean,  lank ;  gaunt,  graceless  and  glum 
— what  a  hideous  spectacle  these  three  defence- 
less human  beings  presented.  One  of  them 
was  apparently  so  weak  that  he  had  to  be  sup- 
ported by  the  Gendarmes  and  the  excitement 
caused  by  their  arrival  was  evidenced  from  the 
number  of  people  that  appeared  upon  the 
scene,  sprung  up  as  though  by  magic.  Yet 
there  was  no  noise,  no  confusion,  much  less 
hostile  demonstration  of  any  kind.  They  were 
a  curiosity,  that  was  all. 

"Where  did  you  get  them?"  I  queried  of  the 
Gendarme  when  we  had  come  within  speaking 
distance.  The  little  column  halted  in  front  of 
a  tiny  grocery  shop  and  the  weak  lad  (he 
couldn't  have  been  more  than  nineteen  or 
twenty)  seemed  grateful  for  the  pause.  He 
was  almost  panting. 

The  crowd  gathered  about  them. 

"Rounded  them  up  in  the  woods.  They  are 
scouts.  Got  lost  during  the  retreat  and  have 
been  in  hiding  for  three  weeks.  God  knows  on 
what  they  have  been  living." 

"But  one  of  them  is  very  weak.    Aren't  you 

[38] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

afraid   he    will    collapse    before    you    get    to 
Charly?    It  is  three  miles  from  here." 

The  words  were  barely  out  of  my  mouth  ere 
the  pale  youth  lurched  forward.  The  crowd 
parted  and  he  sank  down  in  a  heap. 

"He  has  fainted",  I  called.  "Stretch  him 
out  and  run  for  some  water." 

The  group  stood  spellbound,  helpless.  One 
old  peasant  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  turning 
on  his  heel  walked  away. 

"We  can't  let  him  die  like  a  dog,  even  if  he 
is  a  German",  grunted  the  store-keeper  as  she 
stepped  indoors. 

"He  is  hungry,  they're  all  hungry,  dying  of 
hunger",  I  explained  as  I  elbowed  my  way 
through  the  crowd.  "Here,  catch  hold  of  him, 
some  one.  We  cannot  let  him  lie  in  the  dust. 
Move  him  indoors." 

The  spell  was  broken.  Twenty  hands 
stretched  forward  and  we  lifted  him  onto  the 
floor  of  the  store.  The  proprietress  came  up 
with  a  glass  of  water.  A  moment  later  some 
one  had  brought  in  a  flask  of  brandy. 

"I'll  take  care  of  this  one,  but  how  about  the 
other  two?" 

The  women  looked  askance  at  each  other. 

[39] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

"Tant  pis!  j'l/  vais",  said  one,  and  the 
store-keeper  echoed  her  sentiments.  A  second 
later  she  appeared  with  a  steaming  bowl  in  her 
hands. 

Heaven  knows  it  was  little  enough  she  had 
to  offer;  a  plate  of  soup  and  a  crust  of  bread, 
but  as  long  as  I  live  I  shall  never  forget  the 
light  in  those  men's  eyes  when  the  great  nine 
pound  loaf  was  placed  on  to  the  table.  Pray 
God  I  may  never  see  it  again.  They  fell  to 
with  a  greed  that  was  appalling,  even  the  weak 
one.  The  very  smell  of  the  soup  seemed  to 
revive  them. 

When  I  felt  they  were  a  bit  restored,  I  put 
a  few  questions  in  broken  German. 

"Not  Prussians!  Not  Prussians!",  they 
fairly  shouted  in  chorus.    "Bavarians!" 

I  wonder  what  particular  torture  they 
thought  we  held  in  store  for  their  compatriots 
of  the  North.  From  a  word  now  and  then  I 
gathered  we  had  guessed  correctly.  They  had 
got  lost  during  retreat  and  had  been  in  hiding 
for  three  weeks,  eating  only  raw  beets  and 
turnips,  licking  the  dew  from  the  leaves  to 
quench  their  thirst. 

By  the  time  the  soup  had  disappeared,  boiled 

[40] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF   MERCY 


potatoes,  baked  apples  and  a  bottle  of  white 
wine  had  been  brought  in,  and  I  left  them  to  the 
tender  mercies  of  the  Gendarmes  who  for  once 
fell  short  of  their  reputation  for  severity. 

"Don't  ever  let  Poupard  know  I  brought 
that  wine",  whispered  Mother  P.  as  together 
we  walked  homeward.  "I'd  never  hear  the  end 
of  it.  But  our  boy's  out  there  fighting  too  and 
I  couldn't  bear  to  think  he'd  ever  come  to  want 
because  he  was  an  enemy." 


[41] 


II 

On  the  fifteenth  day  of  October,  at  a  little 
after  eleven  in  the  morning  an  army  supply 
waggon  with  tightly  drawn  and  buckled  cur- 
tains rattled  down  the  main  street  of  Villiers 
and  drew  up  in  front  of  the  chateau.  The  noise 
and  the  large  red  cross  painted  on  either  side 
of  the  cover,  attracted  the  attention  of  a  score 
of  peasant  women,  who  imagining  the  wounded 
were  arriving  at  our  hospital,  hastened  down 
the  street  and  stood  gaping  in  the  roadway 
awaiting  the  pleasure  of  a  red-headed  driver 
who  calmly  prepared  to  leave  his  seat  and  make 
known  the  contents  of  his  cart. 

By  the  time  I  had  come  downstairs  and 
gained  the  entrance  hall  excitement  had 
reached  concert  pitch,  and  when  I  stepped  out- 
doors I  was  confronted  by  an  awe  stricken 
group  of  people  silently  elbowing  each  other 
and  craning  their  necks  to  get  a  better  view. 

The  driver  leisurely  rolled  up  his  sleeves, 
moistened  his  hands  in  a  most  inelegant 
manner,  parted  the  curtains  and  disclosed  four 

[42] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF   IVIERCY 

wooden  boxes  containing  pharmaceutical  sup- 
plies and  a  half  dozen  soldiers  knapsacks. 
That  was  all. 

Disappointment  was  audibly  expressed  and 
he  of  the  fiery  whiskers  after  having  calmly  de- 
posited his  goods  on  the  lowest  step  was  mak- 
ing ready  for  immediate  departm-e  when  I  ac- 
costed him. 

"I  say  driver,  are  the  wounded  on  the  way?" 

"What  wounded?" 

"The  men  to  whom  those  sacks  belong.  The 
soldiers  we  are  expecting." 

"Don't  ask  me,  how  should  I  know?" 

"But  I  thought  perhaps — " 

He  interrupted  me. 

"In  my  metier  what's  the  use  of  thinking? 
None !  You  do  what  you're  told,  un  jjoint,  c'est 
toiitr 

But  evidently  his  metier  had  nothing  to  do 
with  bridling  of  vocabulary,  and  my  questions 
had  set  him  going.  A  good  quarter  of  an  hour 
later  I  left  him  in  the  midst  of  a  dissertation  on 
military  grandeur  and  servitude,  and  the  dis- 
appointed peasants  were  surely  well  repaid  for 
their  trouble  if  words  count  for  aught. 

His  eloquence  was  interrupted  by  the  even 

[43] 


/ 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

tramp  of  feet  and  hastily  buttoning  his  coat  he 
whipped  up  his  nags  and  departed  just  as  some 
soldiers  headed  by  a  Sergeant  turned  into  the 
drive.  This  time  it  was  the  real  thing,  and 
from  an  upper  window  I  watched  Madame 
Guix  greet  our  Sergeant- 1 nfirmier  and  his  four 
assistants. 

They  certainly  were  a  weird  looking  quintet : 
beginning  with  Sergeant  Godec  himself, 
round  ruddy,  middle-aged,  almost  bursting  in 
his  uniform,  his  well  waxed  mustache  giving 
his  face  the  appearance  of  bristling  with  im- 
portance. 

He  drew  his  men  up  to  "Attention"  with  a 
voice  that  could  have  been  heard  above  the  roar 
of  a  dozen  nearby  guns,  and  then  saluting  my 
nurse  awaited  her  orders.  A  second  later, 
"Break  ranks",  he  shouted  in  stentorian  tones. 
The  command  was  hardly  necessary  for  even  at 
"Attention"  the  quartet  of  men  from  the 
"Sei^vice  Auxiliare"  was  the  most  unmilitary 
looking  unit  I  had  ever  perceived,  in  fact  as  I 
gazed  at  them  I  could  not  repress  a  smile. 

On  one  end  stood  a  great,  gaping  blonde 
headed  fellow,  his  hands  which  strangely  re- 
sembled shoulders  of  mutton  hanging  at  his 

[44] 


%--^, 


-<* 


THE    RETHEAT   FROM   CHARLEROT    TO   THE    MARNE 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

sides,  his  mouth  open,  his  eyes  vacantly  star- 
ing at  six  columns  of  smoke  that  were  rising 
from  as  many  chimneys  of  the  chateau.  Next 
to  him  was  a  dark,  tight  featured  peasant 
whose  ambhng  gait  had  attracted  my  attention 
as  he  slouched  rather  than  walked  up  the 
avenue.  In  fact  one  could  not  tell  whether  he 
was  tall  or  short  so  elastic  were  his  move- 
ments. 

Third  from  the  end  was  a  genial  looking  chap 
with  clear  blue  eyes  and  a  kindly  smile,  and  last 
but  not  least,  was  a  nervous  little  fellow  who 
was  struggling  with  innumerable  packages 
that  were  hung  about  his  person  with  several 
different  bits  of  string.  Every  movement  he 
made  to  disentangle  himself  only  comphcated 
the  situation  which  was  already  none  too  simple 
when  one  considers  that  he  was  terribly  near 
sighted,  and  the  perspiration  which  trickled 
from  his  nose  made  the  latter  so  slippery  that  it 
refused  to  hold  a  pair  of  gold  circled  pince-nez 
that  were  attached  by  a  flowing  gros  grain 
ribbon. 

After  a  moment's  parley  the  whole  group 
moved  towards  the  refectory  where  they 
quickly  made  acquaintance  with  George  and 

[45] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

Leon  who  showed  them  to  their  quarters  and 
bid  them  make  ready  for  luncheon  which  was 
but  half  an  hour  distant :  it  was  useless  to  think 
of  beginning  any  new  job  before. 

During  our  meal  my  nurse  and  I  made  ver- 
bal note  of  all  the  tasks  which  needed  masculine 
attention  and  decided  that  we  would  commence 
by  scraping  and  polishing  the  floor  of  one  of 
the  wards  where  our  feeble  efforts  had  as  yet 
been  unsuccessful.  We  lingered  a  trifle  longer 
than  usual  over  our  brief  repast  to  give  the  men 
time  to  get  accustomed  to  their  new  surround- 
ings and  at  one  o'clock  sharp  Madame  Guix 
departed  to  give  her  orders.  It  seemed  to  me 
I  had  hardly  had  time  to  fold  my  serviette  ere 
she  reappeared  out  of  breath  with  eyes  as  big 
as  two  franc  pieces. 

"Madame  Huard,  they've  gone  I" 

"Who?" 

"The  soldiers!" 

"^Vhat  nonsense.    Gone  where?" 

"Disappeared,  evaporated!  I  can't  find  a 
trace  of  them." 

"Wliat  do  you  mean?" 

"I  am  not  joking,  I  have  looked  all  over  for 
them." 

[46] 


MY   HOME   IN    THE   FIELD    OF   MEKCY 

"Did  you  ask  Julie?" 

"Yes,  she  says  they  bolted  their  luncheon 
and  then  followed  George  and  Leon  out 
toward  the  barn.  That's  the  last  anyone  saw  of 
them.  They're  not  there  now,  I  have  just  come 
from  there." 

"Well,  don't  let's  worry,  they  will  turn  up  in 
a  few  minutes.  If  they  don't  we'll  ring  the 
farm  bell  for  our  boys." 

A  quarter,  then  half  an  hour  slipped  by  as  we 
busied  ourselves  around  the  house,  and  at  ten 
minutes  before  two  when  I  looked  at  my  watch 
no  soldiers  had  yet  reported  for  duty. 

The  farm  bell  was  rung,  the  emergency  call, 
but  as  Nini  pulled  it  I  observed  that  the  wind 
was  due  East,  in  consequence  carrying  the 
sound  away  from  our  property. 

To  organize  a  searching  party  in  quest  of 
^ve  soldiers  and  a  couple  of  farm  boys,  lost  in 
some  of  the  numerous  buildings  dotted  all  over 
my  one  hundred  and  eighty  acres  of  gi'ound, 
would  not  only  have  been  fatiguing,  but  ludi- 
crous. That  idea  was  abandoned  at  once,  and 
I  sent  Nini  on  a  bicycle  down  as  far  as  the  vil- 
lage cafe  to  inquire  if  they  had  seen  anything 
of  my  boys.    The  idea  that  perhaps  they  had 

[47] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

all  decided  to  clinch  their  friendship  in  a  drop 
of  wine  seemed  feasible. 

Nini  returned  with  a  negative  reply. 

Madame  Guix  and  I  looked  askance  of  one 
another  and  then  laughed.  The  situation  was 
too  ridiculous. 

We  went  to  work  on  our  floor  and  so  earnest 
were  we  that  the  short  afternoon  wore  away  in 
no  time,  and  at  half  past  four  we  had  forgotten 
that  the  chateau  had  once  been  the  proud  pos- 
sessor of  four  orderlies  and  a  sergeant. 

We  were  mopping  our  brows  and  taking  a 
second's  breathing  space  when  Nini,  whom  I 
had  sent  to  Tresnel  in  search  of  a  few  fresh 
eggs,  broke  in  upon  us,  all  excitement. 

"Madame — Madame  Guix — the  soldiers — 
George  and  Leon — they're  all  up  on  the  hill 
bagging  rabbits.  I  saw  them  as  I  passed  from 
the  road,  and  on  my  way  home  Father  Pou- 
pard  came  out  of  his  yard  grumbling  about  its 
getting  dark  and  it  was  time  they  brought  back 
his  ferret." 

I  sat  down  on  a  chair  and  laughed  until  I 
cried.  Here  were  five  serious  minded  orderlies 
sent  out  to  prepare  beds  for  their  suffering  fel- 
low men  and  the  idea  of  a  rabbit  hunt,  "La 

[48] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

chasse"  so  dear  to  the  heart  of  Frenchmen 
had  completely  obhterated  all  conception  of 
war,  militarism  and  duty.  Even  the  prospect 
of  ten  days  in  the  guard-house  apparently  held 
no  terrors.  It  was  so  human  that  it  was 
really  pathetic.  But  my  companion  whose  legs 
and  arms  must  have  ached  as  did  mine  from  our 
exhausting  labor,  did  not  see  the  amusing  side 
of  the  situation.  After  wiping  her  face  and 
straightening  her  cap  she  left  the  room  and  a 
second  later  I  could  hear  her  footsteps  crushing 
the  dead  leaves  in  the  long  alley  leading 
towards  the  rond-point. 

I  followed  in  her  wake,  but  stopped  when  I 
saw  that  she  had  come  up  with  the  hunting 
party,  triumphantly  returning  home  with  the 
spoils  of  their  afternoon  wriggling  in  two 
laundry  bags. 

Madame  Guix  took  the  sergeant  aside.  I 
was  beyond  earshot,  so  what  she  said  to  him  I 
never  heard.  He  hung  his  head  and  looked 
very  sheepish  all  the  while.  A  moment  later 
he  called  his  men  to  "Attention"  and  then  man- 
like proceeded  to  wreak  on  them  the  vengeance 
that  had  just  fallen  to  his  lot. 

Twenty   minutes    later   there    was    such   a 

[49] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

grating  and  scraping  in  that  ward  that  I  feared 
lest  nothing  of  the  floor  be  left  to  polish,  and 
poking  my  head  in  I  caught  sight  of  Sergeant 
Godec  in  the  middle  of  the  room  a  long  lithe 
branch  in  his  hand,  proudly  surveying  his  men- 
ials, who  on  their  knees  were  humbly  obeying 
'his  orders  to  scrape  "Tons  ensemble  et  en 
mesure",  under  penalty  of  having  the  military 
code  as  constant  diet  for  the  next  week  to  come. 

Supper  was  a  mute  meal  and  the  entire 
Corps  d'infirmiers  instead  of  retiring  at  once 
burned  much  of  my  precious  kerosene  appar- 
ently applying  themselves  to  some  arduous 
task  that  was  accomplished  by  the  aid  of  pen, 
ink  and  paper  on  the  long  table  in  the  refectory. 

At  nine  o'clock  we  rang  Le  coucher  and 
five  minutes  later  the  only  sound  that  broke  the 
complete  silence  of  the  night  was  the  screeching 
of  an  owl  and  now  and  again  the  booming  of  a 
distant  gun. 

The  next  morning  I  discovered  that  every 
corridor  in  the  entire  chateau  had  blossomed 
forth  with  the  intricately  printed  signs  stating 
distances  and  directions  and  forbidding  every- 
thing under  the  sun.  Defense  de  fldner  dans 
ce  couloir — Defense  de  cracker  par  terre — 

[50] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

Heures  des  repas — Reglement  de  la  chambre 
— Enough  rules  to  make  any  sick  man  want  to 
lie  down  and  die  at  once.  All  of  which  had 
been  carefully  compiled  by  Sergeant  Godec 
and  faithfully  executed  by  his  slaves  who  had 
been  so  lax  as  to  have  nearly  permitted  him  to 
fall  from  grace. 

A  telephone  call  from  Headquarters  at  Cha- 
teau-Thierry announced  that  ten  occupants  for 
our  beds  would  come  down  by  a  military  train 
as  far  as  our  station,  from  whence  the  supply 
waggon  would  transport  all  it  could  hold  to  our 
door,  making  as  many  trips  as  necessary  unless 
I  had  some  means  of  conveyance  to  offer. 
There  had  been  some  difficulty  in  finding  a 
doctor — they  hoped  to  have  one  on  the  way  by 
the  time  the  men  arrived. 

Here  was  news  indeed,  and  when  I  an- 
nounced that  our  battered  coupe  would  be  sent 
down  to  Nogent  to  bring  up  the  men,  George 
and  Leon  nearly  came  to  blows  trying  to  de- 
cide who  should  have  the  honour  of  driving  the 
first  load. 

And  so  they  arrived ;  six  in  the  van,  four  in 
the  coupe. 

[51] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

It  was  something  of  a  disappointment  and  a 
great  relief  to  find  that  they  were  not  wounded 
heroes.  Illness  was  much  less  appalling  under 
the  circumstances.  Some  were  coughing,  some 
limping  with  rheumatism,  while  others  showed 
no  external  signs  of  malady  other  than  a 
strange  brightness  in  the  eyes,  a  dark  furrow  on 
their  cheeks. 

For  a  second  they  stood  there  helpless  in  the 
marble  paved  vestibule,  tenderly  clinging  to 
their  guns  and  cartridge  cases  as  though  loathe 
to  give  them  up,  their  mud-stained  uniforms 
and  boots  sadly  betokening  their  inability  to  do 
anything  that  required  a  physical  effort. 

We  quickly  put  them  at  ease,  leading  them 
into  the  drawing-room,  converted  into  a  ward, 
where  a  cheerful  fire  welcomed  them  to  its 
hearth.  They  clustered  about  it  and  willingly 
drank  long  draughts  of  linden  flower  tea,  yet 
even  the  warmth  and  soothing  beverage  did  not 
loosen  their  tongues.  I  was  at  loss  to  know 
what  to  do  to  cheer  them. 

Presently  the  sergeant  appeared,  pen  in 
hand,  and  one  or  two  made  an  effort  to  strug- 
gle into  line.  I  said  it  was  not  necessary  and 
he  proceeded  to  take  the  names,  addresses,  regi- 

[52] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 


ment  numbers,  etc.,  terminating  with  the  illness 
for  which  they  had  been  evacuated.  These  pro- 
ceedings brought  to  light  the  fact  that  my 
guests  were  almost  all  from  the  northwestern 
part  of  France,  country  then,  as  now,  in  the 
hands  of  the  enemy.  And  their  illnesses 
proved  to  be  rheumatism,  asthma,  bronchitis, 
dysentery.  Apparently  none  of  these  was 
chronic,  but  in  the  absence  of  any  medical 
authority  IVIadame  Guix  and  I  decided  that 
bath  and  bed  were  very  good  prescriptions  on 
general  principle,  and  in  spite  of  several  looks 
of  protest,  the  order  was  given  and  the  sergeant 
stayed  to  see  that  it  was  executed. 

An  hour  later  a  double  row  of  mummies 
lined  my  drawing-room  and  as  I  entered  I 
heard  an  exclamation  that  went  straight  to  my 
heart — 

"O,  God!  no  draughts  and  a  real  hot  water 
bottle!" 

Orders  were  given  that  no  one  was  to  get  up 
until  after  inspection  the  following  morning, 
and  when  I  made  my  appearance  I  found  the 
injirmiers  hurrying  through  the  corridors 
bearing  bread,  butter  and  hot  coffee  on  impro- 
vised trays.     Theu'  fatigue  costume  was  the 

[53] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

funniest  thing  imaginable,  for  having  cast  aside 
their  long  mihtary  top-coats  and  boots,  they 
had  donned  the  queerest  looking  civilian  togs 
which  together  with  the  red  trousers  of  their 
uniforms  made  their  appearance  most  ludi- 
crous. 

The  man  with  the  goldrimmed  glasses  who 
caused  me  so  much  amusement  on  his  arrival 
was  certainly  a  poem  to  behold.  He  had  re- 
placed his  army  jacket  by  a  long-tailed,  shiny 
seamed,  black  frock  coat  buttoned  right  tight 
up  to  his  neck,  around  which  was  tied  a  varie- 
gated bandanna  handkerchief.  The  dark  blue 
bonnet  de  police  tipped  jauntily  over  one 
ear,  a  pair  of  soiled  white  canvas  sneakers  and 
a  checked  gingham  apron  completed  this 
extraordinary  costume. 

"Ohe — la  petite  Jaquette",  called  one  of  the 
patients,  beckoning  him  as  he  entered  the  room. 

''Oui,  cest  pa/  la  petite  jaquette''  called  all 
the  others  quick  to  grasp  the  humour  of  the  sit- 
uation. 

It  was  thus  he  was  christened,  and  ''Petite 
Jaquette"  he  remained  as  long  as  he  was  with 
us.  In  fact  no  one  ever  realized  he  had  an- 
other name. 

[54] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

Breakfast  disposed  of,  the  sergeant  pre- 
sented me  with  the  first  daily  bulletin,  a  master- 
piece of  penmanship  and  rhetoric,  which  in- 
formed me  that  we  had  eleven  patients  and 
three  orderlies.    I  lifted  my  eyes  in  inquiry. 

"Quite  correct,  Madame",  was  the  immedi- 
ate reply. 

"But  j^our  fourth  man  seemed  all  right  yes- 
terday." 

"He  was.  But  this  morning  he  cannot  get 
out  of  bed.    He  has  got  bad  varicose  veins." 

"I  understand,  overwork  no  doubt?"  said  I 
glancing  at  the  smoothly  poHshed  floor. 

"Quite  correct,  Madame,"  was  the  rigid 
reply. 

What  an  excellent  beginning — thought  I — 
especially  as  we  have  no  doctor ;  and  what  was 
more,  no  way  of  ascertaining  how  soon  one 
would  appear.  Headquarters  could  communi- 
cate with  us  by  telephone,  but  as  we  had  no 
officers  as  yet,  we  had  no  authority  to  com- 
municate with  them. 

By  ten  o'clock  the  men  were  clamouring  to 
get  up,  and  since  they  felt  so  inclined  we  saw  no 
reason  why  they  should  be  made  miserable. 
So  all  save  two  who  had  a  slight  temperature 

[55] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF   MERCY 

arose  and  after  carefully  shaking  up  and  mak- 
ing their  beds  gazed  wistfully  out  of  the  win- 
dow onto  a  cold  drizzling  rain  that  had  set  in. 
I  quickly  provided  pen,  ink  and  paper  of  which 
I  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  procure  a  stock 
while  in  Rebais,  and  manna  in  the  desert  was 
certainly  not  received  more  gratefully.  Each 
one  seized  this  fii'st  opportunity  to  send  his 
exact  address  to  loved  ones  behind  the  lines ;  to 
say  that  it  was  Rien  de  grave  that  had  brought 
him  for  a  moment's  respite  beyond  the  reach  of 
the  enemy's  guns. 

It  was  during  that  first  morning  that  I  re- 
ceived a  visit  from  an  inspection  officer,  who 
seeing  our  hospital  flag  came  in  for  a  word  with 
the  "Medecin-Chef".  Great  was  his  astonish- 
ment when  I  informed  him  that  we  had  none, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  ten  beds  were  already 
occupied.  From  his  attitude  I  could  see  that 
trouble  was  brewing. 

"There  must  be  an  error",  he  explained. 
"Those  men  were  never  destined  for  you;  it 
would  be  far  better  to  send  them  further  on  to 
another  hospital.  I  will  go  down  to  the  sta- 
tion and  make  arrangements  to  have  the  cart 
come  and  get  them  at  once  unless  we  can  make 

[56] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

arrangements  to  get  a  doctor  in  here  by  night- 
fall; headquarters  has  blundered.  It  is 
nothing."  And  noting  all  this  in  a  small  leather 
book  he  departed  leaving  me  feeling  decidedly 
uncomfortable. 

Visions  of  my  hospital  being  closed  through 
misunderstanding;  of  these  poor  tired  fellows 
being  jogged  in  another  direction  just  as  they 
thought  they  were  going  to  get  a  little  rest, 
kindled  my  anger  and  made  me  resolved  to  find 
the  doctor  before  nightfall  or  perish  in  the  at- 
tempt. 

I  took  Madame  Guix  into  my  confidence  and 
we  decided  to  alarm  no  one  but  quickly  make 
our  resolutions  and  act  on  them  immediately. 
The  telephone  was  useless.  Communication 
with  headquarters  would  only  lead  to  complica- 
tions. There  were  just  two  courses  left.  One 
was  to  drive  to  La-Ferte-sous-Jouarre,  twelve 
miles  south  where  I  knew  there  was  a  big  san- 
itary formation,  already  full  to  overflowing,  so 
there  was  no  danger  of  their  wanting  our  men. 
But  here  we  could  get  a  doctor  who  might  pos- 
sibly consent  to  pay  the  necessary  visit,  thereby 
proving  our  efficiency,  saving  the  situation,  and 
giving  Headquarters  time  to  redeem  itself. 

[57] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD   OF   MERCY 

The  second  plan  was  to  go  down  to  Charly 
and  throw  ourselves  on  the  mercy  of  an  elderly 
civilian  doctor,  the  avowed  enemy  of  the 
medecin  militaire  who  had  been  left  with 
no  less  than  fifty-four  townships  to  look  after 
through  the  mobilising  of  his  confreres.  He 
spent  most  of  his  time,  therefore,  on  the  high- 
road drawn  by  a  knock-kneed,  bony  old  horse 
in  the  only  conveyance  the  military  requisitions 
had  left  him — a  queer  high-wheeled  buggy  that 
could  be  heard  rattling  miles  off. 

Madame  Guix  chose  the  mission  to  La  Ferte, 
and  she  and  George  departed  in  one  direc- 
tion with  old  Cesar,  leaving  me  to  tramp  down 
to  Charly  in  a  weird  frame  of  mind.  It  was 
rather  a  delicate  thing  to  ask  a  favour  of  this 
tired  old  physician  whom  up  to  now  I  had  ig- 
nored, giving  preference  to  a  much  younger 
and  more  brilliant  colleague  every  time  I  had 
had  need  of  medical  assistance  before  the  war. 
Doctor  Veru  had  little  by  little  lost  his  practice 
and  until  August,  1914,  spent  most  of  his  de- 
clining years  compiling  a  literary  masterpiece 
which  was  destined  to  refute  a  much  talked  of 
thesis  on  the  folly  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

Doubt  seized  me  as  I  rang  his  bell.    I  stood 

[58] 


MY    HOME    IN   THE   FIELD    OF   MERCY 

little  or  no  chance  of  finding  him  home.  I 
stammered  something  to  Madame  Veru  who 
opened  the  door  and  didn't  seem  the  least  sur- 
prised at  my  visit.  Yes,  the  doctor  was  visible ; 
would  be  down  in  just  a  moment. 

My  story  was  brief  and  I  was  most  fortunate 
in  finding  the  doctor  in  excellent  humour.  He 
not  only  saw  my  embarrassment  but  was  so 
anxious  to  save  me  any  further  ennui  that  half 
an  hour  later  found  us  in  my  drawing-room 
with  my  shirtless  patients  standing  at  the  foot 
of  their  beds  awaiting  medical  inspection. 

"Nothing  really  serious,  Madame,"  was  the 
verdict  he  pronounced.  "A  little  cupping, 
some  tincture  of  iodine,  and  plenty  of  rest." 
The  sergeant  had  taken  notes. 

"No  special  diet,  doctor?" 

"Plenty  of  clean,  wholesome  food,  that's  all. 
I  will  call  to-morrow  and  see  if  anji;hing  has 
developed.    Good-bye,  Madame." 

I  tried  to  thank  him  but  he  turned  a  deaf  ear. 
I  stood  on  the  door  sill  watching  him  drive 
away,  and  by  the  time  he  turned  the  corner  a 
military  motor  with  Madame  Guix  in  the  seat 
of  honour  swung  into  the  yard.  Then  she 
too  had  been  successful ! 

[59] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

I  dashed  indoors  calling  loudly  for  the  ser- 
geant.   He  appeared. 

"Tell  your  men  if  they  want  to  stay  here,  to 
make  ready  for  medical  inspection  and  to  hold 
their  tongues !    Fite,  viteT  I  called. 

The  fellow  looked  at  me  as  though  I  had  sud- 
denly lost  my  mind. 

"Do  what  I  tell  you  and  lose  no  time.  Here 
comes  the  military  doctor."  The  sergeant 
vanished.  Since  this  man  had  taken  the  trouble 
to  come  all  that  distance,  what  was  the  use  of 
quenching  his  enthusiasm,  and  seeming  un- 
grateful? 

A  stout  middle-aged  major  entered  the  ves- 
tibule, greeted  me  politely  and  proceeded  at 
once  to  the  ward,  where  once  again  our  "poilus" 
patiently  endured  the  ordeal  of  thumping  and 
listening,  not  a  murmur  rising  from  a  single 
mouth. 

The  sergeant  followed  in  the  Major's  wake, 
and  Madame  Guix  gave  every  attention  to  in- 
structions. 

"Mien  de  grave.  Paint  them  with  iodine,  one 
or  two  poultices,  and  give  them  plenty  to  build 
them  up;  I'll  come  back  day  after  to-morrow 
unless  you  advise  me  to  the  contrary,"  and  he 

[60] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

proceeded  to  sign  a  sheet  which  Godec  held  out 
to  him  attesting  his  visit. 

It  was  scarcely  a  half  hour  since  Doctor 
Veru  had  pronounced  the  selfsame  words  and 
signed  identically  the  same  paper,  yet  not  a 
person  in  the  room  winked  an  eyelid  though  I 
am  sure  more  than  I  appreciated  the  comedy. 

I  accompanied  the  Major  to  the  door  and 
had  barely  seen  him  out  ere  Nini  announced 
that  two  officers  were  waiting  for  me  in  my 
office. 

"We  are  the  doctor  and  the  pharmacist  sent 
to  take  charge  of  your  hospital." 

"Poor  patients,"  I  gasped,  mentally,  as  the 
idea  of  a  third  inspection  raced  through  my 
brain. 

"Certainly,  gentlemen,"  I  said,  "won't  you 
be  seated?  I  am  delighted  to  welcome  you,  I 
am  sure." 

Someone  rapped  on  the  door. 

"Come  in,"  I  called.  Sergeant  Godec  en- 
tered and  saluted. 

"Madame,  the  inspector  is  outside.  He  says 
he  has  made  all  arrangements.     . 

"You  show  the  inspector  your  two  signed 
sheets,"  I  cut  in.    "And  if  he  wants  any  further 

[61] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

information  tell  him  to  ask  for  an  appointment 
with  the  Medecin-Chef  who  has  taken  over 
authority  here.  Otherwise  we  will  consider  the 
incident  closed." 

The  morrow  brought  another  ten  men  to 
Annexe  No.  7,  and  Sunday  night  found  the 
downstairs  wards  almost  completely  full.  Our 
patients  were  all  men  of  the  younger  classes 
who  had  seen  the  retreat  from  Charleroi  to  the 
Marne;  the  advance  from  the  Marne  to  the 
Aisne,  and  were  most  of  them  suffering  from 
physical  breakdowns.  Three  days,  however, 
had  done  much  towards  making  the  lads  feel 
that  ours  was  a  home  rather  than  a  hospital, 
and  evening  inspection  became  more  a  moment 
to  be  looked  forward  to  than  dreaded.  I  used 
up  pints  of  iodine  painting  chests,  pounds  of 
flax-seed  making  poultices,  and  the  quantity 
of  tizane  that  was  absorbed  without  a  mur- 
mur was  most  astonishing. 

Our  most  genial  inmate  was  a  blondheaded 
miner  from  the  North  quickly  nicknamed 
"Chou"  or  "Chou-Chou"  and  our  treatment  for 
his  little  hacking  cough  was  a  source  of  amuse- 
ment to  his  entire  ward,  all  of  whom  were 

[62] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

simple  peasants  who  had  never  before  had  need 
of  care.  The  doctor  had  ordered  cupping,  both 
on  his  chest  and  back,  and  as  we  had  no  regular 
glasses,  we  were  obliged  to  use  thick  kitchen 
tumblers.  The  boys  clustered  around  Chou's 
bed  to  watch  Madame  Guix  whisk  the  little 
pieces  of  ignited  cotton  into  the  glass  which  was 
promptly  placed  on  the  skin.  Chou  didn't 
mind  it  a  bit ;  in  fact  he  used  to  grin  and  treat 
the  whole  thing  as  a  partie  de  plaisir  beg- 
ging encore  un!  encore  un! 

The  remedy  not  producing  the  desired  effect 
as  rapidly  as  desired  we  were  ordered  to  double 
the  dose  and  let  the  cups  remain  on  longer.  So 
next  evening  we  commenced  our  rounds  by 
Chou's  bed  and  when  we  had  visited  the  entire 
wards,  returned  to  him  to  remove  his  ven- 
touses,  only  to  find  that  he  had  calmly  fallen 
asleep ;  dozed  off  with  twenty  cups  drawing  the 
blood  to  the  sm-face  of  his  skin  for  nearly  half 
an  hour.  And  what  is  still  more  astonishing  is 
the  fact  that  we  raised  him  up  and  removed 
them  all  without  his  ever  opening  his  eyes. 

Monday  morning  brought  consternation  in 
the  kitchen  for  the  amount  of  meat  required 

[63] 


MY    HOME   IN   THE   FIELD    OF    MEKCY 

staggered  the  two  country  butchers  who  had 
guaranteed  to  scour  the  neighbourhood  and 
furnish  us  with  what  we  desired.  As  to  the  veg- 
etables, well,  our  meagre  staff  which  had  been 
swelled  by  volunteers  from  among  the  village 
women,  peeled  and  peeled  and  continued 
peeling,  it  seemed  to  me  that  they  had  never 
finished. 

A  glance  at  the  refectory  told  of  the  fam- 
ished condition  of  our  patients,  for  Sergeant 
Godec  had  been  obliged  to  pin  up  signs  which 
read  as  follows: 

DON^T  BE  GKEEDY.  ThE  DISH  WILL  BE 
PASSED  TWICE.  ThE  FIRST  SERVED  KINDLY  RE- 
MEMBER THERE  ARE  THIRTY-FOUR  OTHERS  TO 
BE  FED. 

Poor  lads  my  only  worry  was  that  we  out- 
stretch our  credit,  for  the  Government  allowed 
us  but  thirty-six  cents  a  day  per  man,  and  my 
bank  account  was  closed  up  tight  at  the  Credit 
Lyonnais,  in  Paris. 

At  first  I  refrained  from  visiting  the  refec- 
tory during  mealtime  for  fear  of  intimidating 
the  boys,  but  the  peals  of  laughter  and  shouts 
of  joy  that  arose  from  that  direction  were  so 

[64] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

enticing  that  the  third  day  I  could  no  longer 
resist  and  arrived  just  as  Yvonne  placed  a 
huge  steaming  platter  of  stew  in  front  of  Ser- 
geant Godec.  His  neighbour  leaned  towards 
him,  sniffed  the  appetising  aroma,  then  turning 
towards  his  comrades  exclaimed  with  a  strange 
huskiness  in  his  voice — 

"Boys— it's  veal!  !  !" 

And  two  great  tears  of  joy  sprang  from 
his  eves  and  trickled  down  his  simburned 
cheeks.  JNIy  own  grew  misty  as  I  turned 
away. 

We  had  been  running  on  thus  for  about  a 
fortnight  without  anything  new  or  startling 
having  occurred.  All  Saints'  Day  came  and 
went,  followed  by  All  Souls'  Day,  'le  jour  des 
morts."  It  had  dawned  in  a  most  depressing 
fashion  with  rain  tinkling  against  the  paper 
that  replaced  our  window  panes,  and  the 
mournful  tolling  of  the  church  bells  in  memory 
of  the  Faithful  Departed  aggravated  my  every 
doubt.  Alas,  there  were  so  many  to  pray  for 
this  year,  and  who  could  tell  what  another  day 
might  bring  forth. 

It  was  a  positive  relief  when  the  bell  rang 
for  supper,  and  I  could  hear  the  joyful  voices 

[65] 


MY   HOME   IN   THE   FIELD   OF   MERCY 

calling  through  the  corridors :  "ha  soupe!    La 
soupe!    Vive  la  soupe!*' 

My  nurse  and  I  were  resting  a  moment  be- 
fore our  own  meal,  silently  meditating  in  front 
of  the  fire.  Our  reverie  was  short  lived,  how- 
ever, for  someone  knocked  at  the  door  and  an- 
nounced that  the  widow  X —  from  the  Black 
Farm  was  downstairs  and  wanted  to  see  me. 
It  was  urgent. 

I  knew  of  many  but  could  think  of  no  press- 
ing reasons  why  the  woman  should  demand  me. 
I  had  seen  neither  her  nor  her  ten  year  old 
daughter  since  our  return  after  the  invasion. 
Perhaps  she  was  short  of  funds.  Madame 
Guix  said  she  would  go  and  attend  to  the 
matter. 

As  I  passed  my  office  on  the  way  to  supper 
a  sob  attracted  my  attention  and  as  I  opened 
the  door  I  could  hear  Madame  Guix  saying, 
"There,  there,  I  am  sure  he'll  go." 

The  haggard  looking  woman  hastily  brushed 
the  tears  from  her  eyes  and  stood  up. 

"She  says  her  little  daughter  is  ill;  has  been 
for  some  time.  Wants  to  know  if  our  doctor 
won't  go  and  see  her." 

"What's  the  trouble  with  her?"  I  asked. 

[66] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 


This  brought  forth  new  tears. 

"I  don't  know — I  don't  know,"  sobbed  the 
woman.    "O,  do  come,  do  come!" 

Abeady  well  acquainted  with  the  primitive 
methods  of  caring  for  the  ill  still  so  prevalent 
among  the  peasants  in  this  particular  district ; 
realising  that  often  for  economy's  sake  med- 
ical assistance  was  not  sunmioned  until  too  late 
to  be  of  any  use,  I  judged  that  this  case  must 
indeed  be  urgent. 

I  sought  out  our  doctor  and  laid  the  matter 
before  him.  He  expressed  his  willingness  to 
make  the  visit,  and  the  woman  having  refused 
our  offer  of  something  hot  to  stimulate  her, 
patiently  waited  until  we  had  finished  our  even- 
ing meal.  Then  the  four  of  us  set  out  together, 
leaving  the  pharmacist  in  charge  of  the  hos- 
pital. 

What  a  wild  night  it  was.  The  wind  howled 
most  dismally  through  the  pine  trees  and  drove 
the  rain  in  sheets  against  our  faces.  We  chose 
a  short  cut  down  our  avenue,  and  as  we 
plodded  along  through  the  layers  of  moist 
leaves  each  footstep  added  another  noise  to  the 
tempest.  There  were  moments  when  it  was 
hard  to  tell  whether  it  were  guns  or  thunder 

[67] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

that  rent  the  air,  and  as  now  and  again  we 
would  emerge  into  the  open,  I  fancied  I  saw 
lightning — or  was  it  the  flash  of  distant  search- 
lights seeking  out  enemy's  aeroplanes  ? 

At  the  little  iron  gate  which  marks  the  ex- 
treme limit  of  our  property,  we  clustered  to- 
gether and  I  held  the  lantern  closer  to  enable 
my  nurse  to  better  insert  the  key.  A  tremen- 
dous gust  of  wind  that  sent  the  frightened 
night-birds  screaming  from  their  perches,  blew 
out  the  light  and  left  us  in  total  darkness.  We 
were  now  nearly  a  mile  from  the  house ;  it  was 
useless  to  think  of  retracing  our  steps.  To  try 
to  light  a  match  was  hopeless.  There  was 
nothing  to  do  but  continue. 

What  a  mad,  ghastly  tramp  we  had,  our 
doctor,  Madame  Guix  and  myself,  following  in 
the  path  of  that  sorrow  stricken  mother,  slip- 
ping and  sliding  on  the  steep  inclines,  the  noise 
about  us  such  as  to  make  one  wonder  whether 
God  or  man  were  not  doing  their  utmost  to 
shatter  poor  old  mother  earth. 

After  nearly  an  hour's  climb,  puffing  and 
panting,  dripping  with  rain  and  perspiration 
we  finally  reached  an  isolated  farmhouse.  Our 
guide  entered  first  and  we  followed  close  be- 

[68] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

hind  to  see  an  old  white-bonneted  peasant 
woman  crouching  in  the  corner  of  the  hearth, 
her  face  hghted  by  the  glow  of  the  dying 
embers. 

"Mother,  he's  come",  said  Madame  X — 
rousing  the  dozing  figure. 

"God  be  praised,  God  be  praised",  mumbled 
the  little  old  woman  bustling  about  to  light  a 
candle. 

"Where  is  the  child?"  asked  the  doctor  after 
having  removed  his  raincoat  that  had  covered 
his  uniform. 

He  followed  the  woman  to  a  doorway  and 
over  his  shoulder  I  could  see  stretched  out  on 
a  humble  bed  a  puny,  emaciated  child.  Surely 
her  visage  was  familiar.  Of  course  I  knew 
her!  She  had  been  in  my  catechism  class  that 
j^ear  and  had  made  her  First  Comnmnion  in 
June.  Could  it  be  possible?  What  a  change 
had  come  over  her!  The  mother  bent  over 
her  and  gently  called  "Elvire,  Elvire".  At  the 
touch  of  her  hand  the  child  started  and  shiv- 
ered. 

"Elvire,"  called  the  woman,  "here's  the  doc- 
tor and  Madame  Huard.  They've  come  to  see 
you." 

[69] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OE    MERCY 

The  girl  cast  a  glance  in  our  direction,  her 
eyes  falling  on  the  doctor  in  uniform  who  stood 
nearest  her.  With  a  wild  yell  she  caught  at  the 
covers  and  in  one  bound  was  in  the  other  corner 
of  the  room. 

"I  am  afraid!  I  am  afraid!"  she  shrieked. 
"Don't  come  near  me!  don't,  don't!"  Her 
little  body  was  quaking,  tortured  by  her  spirit. 

The  old  grandmother  darted  into  the  room 
and  seizing  the  doctor  by  the  arm  motioned 
him  to  come  away. 

"Elvire,"  pleaded  the  broken-hearted  mother, 
"Elvire,  he's  gone." 

"But  he'll  come  back!  no!  no!  I'm  afraid,  no, 
don't  let  him  come,  don't  let  him  touch  me." 

"Elvire,"  I  called,  my  voice  shaking  with 
horror  and  emotion.  "Elvire,  don't  you  re- 
member me?  Surely — Madame  Huard? 
Don't  you  remember  how  we  used  to  sing  to- 
gether last  Spring." 

A  queer  choking  sound  came  from  her 
throat.  Her  eyes  softened  but  no  tears  came. 
There  were  none  left. 

Then  followed  the  hardest  moral  struggle  I 
ever  hope  to  experience;  a  full  half  hour  in 
which  I   sought  to  convince  this  little  fear- 

[70] 


MY    HOME   IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 


cowed  animal  of  my  integrity.  And  when  at 
last  I  held  that  tiny  hea\^ng  body  against  my 
breast,  saw  the  eyes  close  peacefully,  I  knew 
that  I  had  won  a  victory. 

Elvire  slept,  slept  for  the  first  time  since  the 
fifth  of  September.  We  had  akeady  guessed 
the  woeful  truth  but  to  corroborate  our  direst 
suppositions,  the  tales  of  German  cowardice 
and  brutality  that  mid  tears  and  lamentations 
we  wrung  from  those  grief-bowed  peasant 
women  made  me  feel  that  war  might  pass  and 
peace  might  come  again,  but  I  could  never 
pardon. 


[71] 


Ill 

"Fourteen  more  soldiers  and  an  Arab", 
announced  Nini  as  she  pushed  open  the 
shutters  and  prepared  to  pour  the  steaming 
water  into  my  improvised  bath-tub.  I  rubbed 
my  eyes.    What  was  the  child  saying? 

''Old,  Madame — fourteen  more  soldiers,  and 
such  a  lovely  Arab — he's  got  the  military  medal 
too." 

"When  did  they  come,  why  didn't  you  wake 
me,  you  knew" — 

"They  got  here  about  five  o'clock.  The 
Doctor  gave  orders  not  to  disturb  anyone. 
They're  almost  all  bathed.now." 

Fourteen  more,  that  made  forty-four,  and 
already  the  butchers  had  encountered  difficulty 
in  providing  sufficient  meat  for  thirty ! 

At  breakfast  which  consisted  of  coffee  and 
bread,  the  latter  held  on  a  long  twig  before  the 
flame  of  our  dining  room  fire  if  we  wished  it 
toasted — the  doctor  confirmed  Nini's  report. 

There  was  no  question  of  taking  time  even 
to  say  a  word  of  welcome  to  the  newcomers. 

[72] 


MY    HOME   IN    THE   FIELD    OF   MERCY 


The  doctor  was  there  to  attend  to  their  suffer- 
ings, if  they  had  any,  and  Madame  Guix  had 
found  a  very  able  assistant  in  the  person  of 
Mademoiselle  Alice  Foerter,  saleslady  in  one 
of  the  big  shops  on  the  Avenue  de  F Opera,  and 
whom  the  invasion  had  surprised  spending  her 
vacation  with  her  parents  at  Villiers. 

When  suddenly  overnight  one  finds  one's 
family  augmented  by  fourteen  hungry  mouths, 
there  is  only  one  thing  left  to  do — hustle ! 

I  gulped  my  coffee  and  started  down  the 
kitchen  corridor.  Suddenly  at  the  other  ex- 
tremity the  door  opened  and  an  unfamiliar 
military  figure  v/earing  the  red  cloth  bloomers 
of  a  Zouave,  emerged  from  the  culinary  re- 
gions. His  face  was  unknown  to  me,  but  in  a 
twinkling  my  eye  had  recognised  the  topcoat 
of  an  artillerj^m.an,  and  the  Alpine  soldiers' 
bonnet!  High  in  the  air  above  his  head,  bal- 
anced on  one  hand  was  a  tray  full  of  dishes. 

I  was  surely  more  disconcerted  than  he,  for 
he  continued  his  approach,  and  as  he  drew  up 
to  me  made  a  most  dramatic  pirouette,  saluted 
and  said — 

"Lambert,  the  new  orderly — at  your  service, 
Madame." 

[73] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 


I  murmured  a  word  of  welcome,  and  for 
want  of  something  better  to  say  asked  him  to 
what  branch  of  the  service  he  belonged. 

"The  Light  Infantry,  Madame",  he  replied, 
continuing  his  way. 

If  he  had  said  the  "Kaiser's  personal  suite", 
I  shouldn't  have  been  more  astonished — for 
nothing  about  his  bearing  or  uniform  betok- 
ened in  the  slightest  degree,  the  service  he  had 
mentioned. 

Some  poor,  harmless  lunatic — I'd  find  out 
more  about  him  later  on:  just  at  present  it  was 
luncheon  that  was  worrying  us. 

A  few  days  before  it  had  been  an  easy  thing 
to  solve  the  food  problem,  but  added  to  our 
troubles  of  the  moment  was  the  rapid  disap- 
pearance of  the  little  coal  that  remained  in  my 
bunkers,  after  the  invasion,  and  which  our  large 
kitchen  range  was  now  consuming  with  alarm- 
ing celerity.  For  this  there  was  but  one  thing 
to  be  done,  admonish  those  in  charge  to  "Go 
easy" — and  then  set  about  getting  someone  to 
saw  wood  into  several  even  lengths — because, 
once  our  coal  supply  exhausted  there  was  no 
way  of  its  being  replenished.  Even  in  peace 
times  it  had  to  come  by  rail  to  Nogent — eight 

[74] 


AMED-BEN-MOHAMEI),  NINI  S  ARAU,  WHO 
BELONGED  TO  Ol  R   MOROCCAN    TROOPS 


MY    HOME   IN   THE   FIELD   OF   MERCY 

miles  away — and  at  present  there  was  no  rail- 
way— at  least  for  civilian,  or  even  hospital 
needs.  Heaven  help  us  if  it  ever  grew  cold 
enough  to  need  a  furnace ! 

As  to  the  food  supply  it  was  now  a  question 
of  canvassing  the  whole  outlying  vicinity — of 
getting  not  only  our  own,  but  butchers  as  far  as 
fifteen  miles  the  round,  to  help  swell  our  ra- 
tions. This  was  doubly  difficult  because  in 
most  cases  the  butchers  themselves  were  at  the 
front  and  had  left  only  their  wives  to  replace 
them.  To  their  lot  then  fell  the  procuring,  the 
killing,  the  actual  chopping  up  and  deHvery — 
a  heroic  job  when  one  considers  that  there 
wasn't  a  single  horse  under  twenty  years  of 
age  left  to  haul  the  carts  that  could  be  impro- 
vised— and  doubly  meritorious  when  there 
were  young  children  to  be  looked  after. 

It  was  raining,  as  usual,  a  nasty  cold  drizzle 
that  discouraged  one  from  the  sta'-* '  I  fancy 
one  never  really  gets  accustomed  to  paddling 
about  in  heavy  wooden  sabots,  or  having  one's 
every  covering  permeated  almost  immediately 
one  stirs  abroad.  It  was  like  living  in  an 
aquarium.  Nevertheless  it  had  to  be  braved, 
and  I  spent  that  and  a  number  of  the  following 

[75] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 


mornings  arranging  a  regular  daily  routine, 
which  if  carried  out  as  promised  would  save 
further  complications. 

It  was  not  until  after  luncheon  that  I  made 
the  acquaintance  of  the  latest  arrivals,  who 
occupied  a  ward  on  the  first  floor.  In  such 
cases  there  can  be  no  introduction,  one  merely 
passes  from  bed  to  bed,  with  a  word  of  encour- 
agement for  each  and  every  newcomer,  and 
later  on  the  perusal  of  the  sergeant's  sheet  tells 
from  whence  they  hail,  and  what  is  their  calling. 
During  the  entire  time  the  Chateau  de  Villiers 
functioned  as  a  hospital  we  never  had  a  patient 
of  culture  or  refinement ;  ours  were  children  of 
the  soil — and  it  is  constant  contact  with  such 
souls  as  theirs  that  gives  one  an  insight  to  the 
heretofore  undreamed  of  qualities  of  the 
French  race. 

In  all  the  long  dreary  months  during  which 
hundreds  of  these  humble,  uncouth  peasants 
who  ranged  from  eighteen  to  fifty  years  of  age, 
came  and  went  from  my  home;  mid  their  suf- 
ferings ar  joys,  I  never  heard  a  vulgar  oath, 
an  unkind  word,  and  yet  I  knew  that  with  us 
they  felt  they  were  under  no  restraint. 

Of  the  men  who  composed  the  upstairs  ward, 

[761 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEKCY 

those  whom  I  recall  the  best  were  Amed-ben- 
Mohamed,  Nini's  Arab,  who  belonged  to  our 
Moroccan  troops,  and  Lambert,  he  of  the 
Zouave  bloomers — who  evacuated  for  chronic 
asthma,  had  elected  the  kitchen  as  the  best  place 
to  proceed  with  his  cure.  Besides,  what  could 
the  Doctor  say — a  Red-Cross  sleeve  band 
which  was  the  chief  adornment  of  his  extraor- 
dinary uniform,  and  which  I  forgot  to  mention, 
stamped  him  as  stretcher-bearer  on  the  battle- 
field, orderly  in  a  hospital — and  pray  where 
was  the  proper  place  for  any  self-respecting 
orderly  if  not  in  the  kitchen ! 

Our  doctor  closed  his  eyes  a  trifle  to  such 
proceedings.  We  were  in  need  of  all  the  help 
we  could  get — and  any  voluntary  assistance  in 
the  matter  of  carrying  trays  and  washing 
dishes  was  not  to  be  discouraged. 

Amed-ben-Mohamed,  quickly  dubbed  "Sidi" 
— whose  entire  French  vocabulary  consisted  of 
three  words — Boche,  salaud,  capoute — had 
some  little  difficulty  in  explaining  to  our  doctor 
for  just  what  reason  he  had  been  evacuated. 
Fever,  he  certainly  had — but  not  sufficient  to 
prevent  him  from  raising  himself  on  his  elbow 
and  leisurely  smoking  a  package  of  cigarettes 

[77] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

a  day.  And  just  as  we  had  diagnosed  appendi- 
citis the  pain  would  suddenly  shift,  and  become 
congestion  of  the  lungs,  and  every  symptom 
was  there!  The  days  that  his  malady  per- 
mitted him  to  take  his  meals  in  the  refectory 
with  the  others,  his  chief  occupation  was  to 
discover  whether  or  not  he  was  being  served 
with  pork,  which  is  forbidden  by  his  creed. 

Lambert,  who,  among  other  things,  had 
elected  to  wait  on  his  fellow  men  at  table 
(thereby  reserving  for  himself  the  privilege  of 
eating  in  the  kitchen  with  my  own  domestics ) , 
took  Sidi  under  his  special  tutelage,  and  when 
the  forbidden  viands  appeared  on  the  menu, 
always  had  some  specialty  dished  up  for  him. 
I  can  see  him  now  leaning^  over  Sidi  who  had 
stretched  out  his  hand  tov/irds  the  dish — pull- 
ing him  by  the  sleeve  and  shouting  "Aloof, 
aloof — not  good — no,  no". 

"Where  did  you  learn  Arabic?"  I  queried. 

"Picked  it  up  when  I  was  with  the  Colonial 
troops  in  Africa,"  came  the  quick  reply  that 
made  all  the  men  prick  up  their  ears,  and 
wonder  how  this  pale  faced  sapling  had  ever 
stood  the  strain. 

It  was  with  the  first  comers  that  we  became 

[78] 


MY    HOME   IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MERCY 

most  quickly  acquainted.  They  had  been 
allotted  the  ward  in  the  drawing-room,  where 
the  broad  hearth  with  its  brilliant  pine  wood 
fire  was  most  inviting,  and  the  groups  that 
clustered  about  it  gradually  lost  their  shyness, 
and  at  the  end  of  a  week  were  freely  discussing 
the  one  and  only  topic  of  the  time — the  war. 
Not  that  any  of  them  ever  spoke,  or  even 
alluded  to  the  individual  part  that  he  had 
played  therein.  Personal  narratives  had  to  be 
extracted  piecemeal,  and  yet  many  among  the 
lads  wore  the  cross  for  bravery. 

It  was  more  like  a  house  party  than  anything 
else,  and  little  by  little  the  men  from  the  other 
rooms  would  come  down  bringing  their  chairs, 
to  spend  an  hour  or  so  mid  this  genial  com- 
pany. 

A  touching  attention  which  won  my  heart 
immediately  was  the  fact  that  I  could  come 
upon  them  at  any  time  of  the  day  or  evening, 
and  always  find  my  favourite  armchair  vacant, 
awaiting  me.  The  presence  of  a  woman 
amongst  them  never  created  the  slightest  shy- 
ness, nor  awkward  feeling.  We  were  all  part- 
ners in  the  same  great  struggle — and  we  knew 
it.    I  must  admit,  however,  that  mine  was  the 

[79] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 


only  place  respected,  for  time  and  again  I  have 
watched  a  boy  sit  near  the  kindly  blaze — liter- 
ally steaming  in  his  clothes — loath  to  give  up 
his  favourite  spot — knowing  that  a  breathing 
trip  to  the  window  would  lose  him  his  seat  for 
the  next  hour  at  least ! 

Now  and  again  the  doctor  was  called  to  Cha- 
teau-Thierry to  make  his  report,  and  each  time 
he  returned  he  would  bring  the  daily  paper. 
What  a  rare  treat  it  was.  One  of  us  women 
would  seize  it  and  immediately  read  the  news 
aloud  to  all  assembled,  and  then  the  little 
flimsy,  single  sheet  would  pass  from  hand  to 
hand — and  when  finally  consigned  to  the  waste 
basket  was  nearer  pulp  than  paper! 

If  the  news  were  favourable  tongues  wagged 
almost  gaily,  planning  future  advances,  most 
of  the  men  foreshadowing  the  time  when  home 
and  loved  ones  would  be  liberated  from  the  op- 
pressors' heel.  If  the  news  were  not  so  good, 
far  from  discouraging  its  readers,  it  seemed  to 
stimulate  their  ardour. 

"Ah,  la,  la!  what's  fifty  yards  of  trenches — 
let  'em  look  out  for  themselves  to-morrow!" 
And  almost  invariably  the  next  day  the  cannon 
would  roar  in  our  immediate  vicinity. 

[80] 


MY    HOIVIE    IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MERCY 

"What  did  I  tell  you!  they're  pounding  on 
the  cathedral  at  Soissons,  that  means  they've 
lost  somewhere  up  the  line!" 

At  first  I  imagined  that  this  was  merely  sup- 
position but  later  on  I  found  it  to  be  true ;  and 
long  before  we  could  procure  the  ''Commu- 
nique" we  were  able  to  judge  the  success  of  our 
troops  from  the  more  or  less  heavy  bombard- 
ment inflicted  by  the  Germans  upon  our  near- 
est open  city. 

"What  good  can  it  do  'em  to  waste  their 
shells, like  that?" 

"They're  just  mad — they've  got  to  break 
something." 

"Mad,  well  they'll  be  madder  yet  before  we 
get  through  with  'em!  It'll  take  'em  a  hundred 
years  to  recover.  We  gave  'em  a  taste  of  what 
we  could  do  at  the  Marne — didn't  we?" 

"Just  give  us  time  and — "    .    .    . 

"When  do  you  think  it'll  all  be  over?"  tim- 
idly inquired  "La  Petite  Jaquette,"  who  like 
Cinderella  was  always  to  be  found  bending 
over  the  fire,  stirring  some  mysterious  remedy. 

"Over!  how  can  I  tell — but  I  don't  see  what 
you've  got  to  growl  about — isn't  this  place 
good  enough  for  youV 

[81] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIEED    OF    MERCY 

That  November  there  seemed  to  be  no  end  to 
the  bad  weather.  It  rained  on  and  on  hope- 
lessly and  ceaselessly,  housing  the  men  for 
weeks  at  a  time,  and  making  it  necessary  to 
invent  amusements,  for  once  the  home  letters 
written,  time  hung  heavy  on  the  hands  of  these 
twoscore  patients  who  were  making  rapid 
strides  towards  complete  recovery. 

From  somewhere  in  the  ruins  a  battered 
chess  board  had  been  extracted,  and  a  clever 
cabinet  maker  turned  us  out  a  hand  made  set 
of  men.  This,  however,  was  distraction  for  a 
half  dozen  at  most — the  two  players  and  their 
nearest  neighbours^  who  used  to  bet  their  week's 
dessert  on  their  favourites. 

Someone  found  a  chromo-lithograph,  which 
was  ironed  out,  glued  to  a  board,  and  then 
sawed  into  a  hundred  pieces,  making  an  enter- 
taining picture  puzzle. 

Last,  but  not  least,  Lambert  produced  a 
pack  of  cards  which  might  have  been  carried 
through  the  war  of  1870,  if  one  were  to  judge 
their  age  by  their  colour! 

"Where'd  you  get  them?"  inquired  a  de- 
hghted  devotee. 

"In  Belgiimi,  when  I  was  with  the  Lancers!" 

[82] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEKCY 


The  interlocutor  scratched  his  head. 

"I  thought  you  said  you  belonged  to  the 
Colonial  Infantry?" 

But  Lambert  had  already  discreetly  retired 
beyond  hearing. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  every  one  of  these  men 
had  a  different  way  of  telUng  fortunes — and 
between  seances  the  pack  would  be  borrowed 
by  ardent  lovers  of  "Ecarte"  or  "Manille". 

I  tried  to  introduce  poker,  but  not  being  an 
expert  at  the  game  myself,  my  efforts  were 
fruitless,  and  I  was  gently  but  firmly  informed 
that  if  one  really  wanted  to  gamble  for  buttons 
or  pebbles,  Baccarat  far  surpassed  any  Amer- 
ican invention. 

Another  favourite  pastime  was  singing.  Na- 
tive talent  was  not  sufficient  to  permit  us  to 
graduate  even  to  two  part  songs — but  each 
and  every  man,  no  matter  what  his  vocal  qual- 
ities has  some  favourite  ditty — some  patriotic, 
some  sentimental — but  for  the  most  part  dear 
old  folk  songs  characteristic  of  the  reahn  from 
which  the  singer  came.  It  is  really  extraor- 
dinary in  what  rapt  silence  forty  men  will  sit 
listening  to  a  long  drawn  out  story,  whose 
primitive    musical    accompaniment    becomes 

[83] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

more  than  wearying  after  the  twenty-second 
verse ;  and  it  is  stranger  still  when  one  considers 
that  the  French  soldier  usually  so  modest  about 
displaying  his  talents  can  be  called  upon  for  a 
chanson  at  almost  any  time  or  place — and 
willingly  complies — standing  up  and  pouring 
out  his  heart,  absolutely  unconscious  of  his  sur- 
roundings. 

It  was  thus  that  a  sad  faced,  sallow  cheeked, 
middle  aged  man  called  Lebras,  insisted  upon 
getting  in  his  turn  every  time  our  impromptu 
concert  began.  And  after  the  third  or  fourth 
stanza — each  one  of  which  commenced — "The 
snow  is  gently  falling" — he  would  be  obliged 
to  gasp  for  breath  owing  to  his  rundown  phys- 
ical condition. 

"Don't  strain  yourself  old  man",  gently 
hinted  a  companion  a  bit  bored. 

"No  danger,  I'm  all  right  now",  replied  the 
singer,  grasping  the  rail  of  his  bed  to  steady 
himself,  and  literally  growing  purple  in  his 
attempt  to  keep  on  key. 

"Don't  overdo,  it  isn't  worth  while.  Plenty 
of  time  to-morrow",  suggested  another  con- 
frere, guessing  my  mental  agony. 

"I'm  still  game",  would  come  the  reply,  and 

[84] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEKCY 

as  though  storming  an  enemy  position  the  fel- 
low would  valiantly  stick  to  his  post — only  to 
fall  panting  on  his  bed  mid  thundering  ap- 
plause from  his  audience. 

"Awful  ordeal  for  you,  Madame",  whis- 
pered little  wide-awake  Sergeant  Lorrain 
by  way  of  apology,  "But  he's  such  a  good 
fellow  we  can't  let  him  down.  He's  got  a 
wife  and  three  kids,  and  he  won  that  medal 
for  going  out  and  fetching  in  his  captain 
who  was  agonising  twenty  yards  in  front  of 
his  trenches.  We  can  stand  a  lot  more  from 
him  if  you  can." 

I  once  mentioned  this  extraordinary  willing- 
ness to  vocalise  in  public  to  an  officer  friend  of 
mine,  a  captain.  He  smiled  at  my  story  and 
in  return  told  such  an  amusing  illustration  of 
this  particular  propensity,  that  I  cannot  resist 
quoting  it  here. 

"It  was  Christmas  and  the  sections  who  be- 
hind the  lines  were  awaiting  their  turn  to  go  to 
the  trenches,  asked  my  permission  to  organise 
a  concert  in  a  tumble-down  shed  at  the  extreme 
end  of  the  village.  The  whole  thing  was  super- 
intended by  a  shoemaker — jack  of  all  trades — 
under  whose  direction  a  stage  was  rigged  up 

[85] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

and  a  couple  of  acetylene  lamps  actually  made 
to  burn." 

"The  concert  went  off  splendidly  and  the 
next  morning  the  participating  artists  packed 
up  their  kits  and  ambled  forth  to  the  trenches, 
their  extra  terrestial  faces  still  beatified  by  the 
intense  jubilation  of  the  night  before." 

"These  two  sections  relieved  two  others  who 
came  back  to  the  cantonment  with  brows 
knitted  and  hearts  swelled  with  bitterness  at 
not  having  been  able  to  attend  the  party." 

"Natui^ally  the  others  had  put  aside  their 
share  of  the  refresliments.  The  tables  were 
again  set  up,  and  each  one  got  his  orange,  his 
cigar,  his  piece  of  cheese,  his  nuts  and  a  cupful 
of  champagne.  When  the  bottle-  had  gone  the 
rounds  there  was  a  general  demand  for  a  song 
and  several  volunteers  rose." 

"About  eleven  o'clock  that  night",  continued 
the  captain,  "I  was  making  a  round  when  I 
caught  sight  of  the  lights  in  the  shed,  and 
quickly  hastened  in  that  direction.  I  opened 
the  door  and  at  the  other  extremity  of  the  hall, 
mounted  on  the  brilliantly  lighted  platform 
was  a  soldier,  who,  one  hand  on  his  heart  was 
singing — 

[86] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

"Quand  les  lilas  fleuriront — ont — ont/' 
"So  engrossed  was  he  by  his  song  that  he 
didn't  perceive  my  presence,  and  the  second 
glance  showed  me  that  the  fellow  was  singing 
to  empty  seats.  All  his  companions,  dead 
tired,  had  rolled  themselves  up  in  their  blankets 
and  were  peacefully  sleeping  at  his  feet!" 


The  greatest  sensation  of  the  month  was  the 
arrival  of  a  real  wounded  man.  The  little 
temporary  hospital  at  Rebais,  where  Madame 
Guix  had  taken  care  of  so  many  cases  during 
the  invasion,  was  closing  its  doors  for  lack  of 
patients.  One  alone  remained,  a  chap  named 
Paul  Coutin,  who  had  had  a  leg  amputated 
but  was  hardly  sufficiently  recovered  from  the 
operation  to  be  dismissed  from  the  army  and 
thrown  helpless  upon  the  world.  He  had  been 
a  great  favourite  with  Madame  Guix  who  was 
delighted  to  have  him  finish  his  convalescence  at 
Villiers,  so,  thanks  to  my  notary  who  acted  as 
intermediary  between  the  two  military  doctors, 
we  finally  obtained  his  permission,  and  Paul 
was  duly  transferred  in  maitre  Baudoin's  little 
wheezing  motor. 

[87] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD   OF    MERCY 

His  arrival  was  a  triumph  and  the  boys  clus- 
tered round  him,  almost  envious  of  his  mis- 
fortune, which  had  no  doubt  won  him  the  mili- 
tary medal. 

Appreciating  that  he  was  no  longer  "In  the 
game",  Paul  made  light  of  his  affliction,  and 
willingly  told  us  of  his  campaign.  It  was 
doubly  interesting  to  me,  for  after  making  the 
retreat  from  Charleroi  and  reaching  Chateau 
Thierry  he  had  covered  practically  the  same 
ground  as  I  in  my  flight  to  safety,  and  it  was 
a  joyful  surprise  to  find  that  he  belonged  to 
that  same  cavalry  regiment  that  I  had  watched 
from  a  street  corner  in  Rebais,  setting  off  to 
battle  at  two  in  the  morning  with  smiles  on 
their  lips  and  joy  enough  to  appreciate  my 
invocations  of  good  luck. 

"You  never  saw  such  a  mess  in  all  your  life", 
explained  Paul  to  a  group  of  admirers.  "We 
got  into  a  hand  to  hand  fight  with  the  Bodies, 
on  the  top  of  the  hill  overlooking  Chateau 
Thierry.  It  was  dusk,  when  we  started  and 
before  we  knew  it,  it  was  pitch  dark,  the  dark- 
est night  you  can  imagine.  Of  all  the  rows  you 
ever  heard,  this  was  the  toughest — but  the 
worst  of  it  was  we  couldn't  tell  our  men  from 

[88] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MERCY 

theirs.  You'd  hear  a  horseman  coming  down 
on  you,  and  I'm  blessed  if  there  was  a  way  of 
finding  out  whether  he  was  friend  or  enemy. 
Finally  in  the  midst  of  it  all  the  German  bugle 
blew  "Stop  the  fight" — and  someone  yelled  in 
French  "Go  to  it  fellows!"  and  you  bet  we 
went.  Cleaned  house  thoroughly.  Half  an 
hour  later  when  we  got  orders  to  draw  off,  and  I 
came  up  with  Joseph,  our  bugler,  he  was  still 
laughing  over  the  good  joke  he'd  played  on  the 
Bodies." 

"But  our  Adjutant  didn't  think  it  was  a 
joke  at  all.  Most  of  us  had  left  more  or  less 
of  our  equipment  on  the  battlefield,  and  all  the 
way  to  Rebais  we  scrapped  with  him  about 
what  the  Captain  would  say  next  day  when  we 
were  lined  up." 

From  Rebais  Paul  had  participated  in  the 
battle  of  the  Morin,  and  it  was  during  the 
French  advance  that  he  had  been  picked  off 
by  a  German  sharpshooter,  hiding  in  the 
bushes.  His  horse  slightly  wounded  had  can- 
tered away  leaving  Paul  sprawling  on  the 
ground  with  a  bullet  through  his  knee. 

He  probably  fainted,  for  when  he  woke  up  it 
was  night,  and  his  faithful  steed  was  licking  his 

[89] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MEKCY 

face.  His  first  movement  afforded  much 
agony — but  nevertheless  he  determined  to  look 
at  his  wound  as  soon  as  possible.  He  managed 
to  find  a  match  in  his  pocket,  and  striking  it,  he 
was  horrified  at  the  condition  of  his  leg,  which 
was  swollen  so  he  could  not  remove  his  boot. 
While  wondering  what  was  going  to  become  of 
him,  dawn  broke  and  through  the  mist  he  could 
see  a  horseman  advancing  in  his  direction.  A 
second  later  he  recognised  a  Uhlan  coming 
head-on,  his  lance  lowered!  Paul  made  a  des- 
perate effort  to  reach  his  gun,  which  had  fallen 
not  far  from  his  side,  but  his  pain  was  so  great 
that  he  could  not  stir. 

In  his  picturesque  language  the  lad  told  how 
he  thought  his  last  moment  had  come  when  the 
Uhlan  dashing  upon  him,  raised  his  lance,  and 
then  to  Paul's  utter  surprise,  instead  of  run- 
ning him  through — suddenly  let  his  arm  drop, 
dismounted  and  offered  our  wounded  hero  a 
drink  of  water  and  a  couple  of  cigarettes ! 

"The  next  thing  I  remember  was  some  peas- 
ants hoisting  me  into  their  cart,  and  when  I 
woke  up  Madame  Guix  was  cutting  off  my 
boot." 

Once  strong  as  a  young  ox,  just  as  soon  as 

[90] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEKCY 

he  was  able  to  be  about,  Paul  began  exercising 
so  as  not  to  become  soft.  He  had  been  a  turner 
of  steel  pieces  in  a  motor  factory,  and  had  every 
intention  of  returning  to  his  old  trade.  He 
very  shortly  became  expert  at  getting  around 
on  his  crutches,  and  his  effort  to  convince  him- 
self and  us  that  he  was  not  physically  inferior 
because  he  was  one  leg  minus,  were  heroically 
pathetic. 

I  have  seen  him  kick  off  a  base  in  an  impro- 
vised foot  ball  game  for  which  w^e  made  new 
rules,  and  once  when  he  was  standing  in  the 
courtyard,  George  led  out  old  Cesar  to  harness. 
His  remembrance  of  the  animal  who  had  so 
faithfully  borne  him  through  the  fight,  rushed 
like  blood  to  his  head.  Dropping  his  crutches 
with  a  superhuman  effort,  he  gave  a  spring, 
arriving  safely  on  Cesar's  back,  and  trium- 
phantly cantered  to  the  front  door. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem  the  boys  had  no 
horror  of  Paul's  infirmity.  The  exhibition  of 
his  stump,  and  the  measuring  to  see  if  enough 
had  been  left  to  assure  him  a  wooden  leg, 
were  a  source  of  great  merriment  to  his  entire 
ward. 

Through   some   physiological   phenomenon, 

[91] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 


for  which  I  do  not  recall  the  English  technical 
name,  the  stump  itself  rapidly  became  covered 
with  an  abundant  growth  of  hair.  One  morn- 
ing after  the  visit,  Paul  asked  Madame  Guix 
what  she  thought  was  the  cause,  and  too  busy 
to  enter  into  details,  my  nurse  replied  that  she 
supposed  it  was  all  the  iodine  she  had  used  as 
disinfectant. 

The  matter  was  dropped  there,  but  the  next 
morning  I  was  astonished  to  see  Sergeant 
Godec  and  Martin  with  their  heads  tied  up. 

"Severe  toothache",  replied  Godec  to  my  in- 
quiry. Martin  didn't  even  say  as  much — but 
rocked- himself  to  and  fro  in  his  armchau*,  the 
perspiration  trickling  down  his  cheeks. 

Fancying  there  was  something  amiss,  I  went 
to  the  doctor,  who  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  and 
at  the  risk  of  violating  the  professional  secret, 
informed  me  that  both  Martin  and  Godec,  who 
were  bald  as  bats,  had  overheard  Madame  Guix 
informing  Paul  about  the  abnormal  growth  of 
hair  on  his  stump.  So  that  same  evening  on 
retiring,  each  one  had  painted  the  other's  un- 
adorned head  with  sufficient  iodine  to  raise  a 
tremendous  blister,  and  in  the  middle  of  the 
night  so  great  was  theii-  agony  that  they  were 

[92] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

obliged  to  rouse  the  doctor,  and  sheepishly 
avowing  their  vanity,  supplicate  him  to  ease 
their  pain — and  above  all  not  to  tell  the  others. 

This  same  Martin  was  the  oldest  of  all  our 
patients.  Over  forty,  he  belonged  to  the  ter- 
ritorials, and  had  not  weathered  the  Fall  cam- 
paign very  well.  Rheumatism,  asthma  and 
bronchitis  had  laid  him  low — but  not  suffi- 
ciently to  require  his  remaining  in  bed.  A 
builder  by  trade,  he  used  to  wander  around  all 
over  the  place,  and  at  night  by  light  of  the  lamp 
would  make  plans  for  reconstruction  when  the 
war  should  be  over. 

Much  to  his  annoyance  the  chimney  in  his 
room  drew  very  poorly,  and  in  the  middle  of 
the  night  would  often  send  out  puffs  of  suffo- 
cating smoke.  Martin  stood  it  as  long  as  he 
could,  and  then  finally  having  raked  up  a 
plank,  at  the  price  of  much  puffing  and  blow- 
ing, climbed  up  three  flights  of  stairs  and 
pushed  his  board  out  a  window  onto  the  roof. 
These  extraordinary  proceedings  were  ob- 
served with  much  interest  by  all  those  who  were 
able  to  be  abroad,  and  any  quantity  of  good 
advice  as  to  what  to  do  to  prevent  slipping  or 
f alhng,  was  offered  by  the  admiring  spectators. 

[93] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEECY 

Martin's  appearance,  pulling  himself 
through  a  little  round  window  that  was  scarce 
bigger  than  a  port  hole,  was  greeted  by  a  roar 
of  applause  from  below.  Quick  to  see  fun  he 
replied  by  removing  his  cap  and  making  a  pro- 
found bow. 

Peals  of  laughter  from  the  audience,  and 
then  ahnost  breathless  silence  while  Martin 
consolidated  his  plank  and  tried  it  with  one 
foot.  Then  he  returned  to  the  window  and 
drew  forth  a  long  pole,  to  which  was  tied  a 
broom.  Everyone  guessed  what  he  was  going 
to  do  with  it,  and  after  he  had  successfully 
reached  the  crest  of  the  chimney  and  the  tight- 
rope act  was  no  longer  a  novelty,  the  men  be- 
gan talking  in  groups,  while  Martin  poked 
away  for  a  good  five  minutes. 

"Is  it  as  full  as  all  that?"  called  someone, 
just  for  the  sake  of  saying  something. 

"Shh!"  returned  a  neighbour  in  a  loud 
whisper,  "He  thinks  he's  in  an  observation  post. 
Don't  disturb  him." 

This  was  followed  by  general  giggling 
among  the  boys. 

"Something's  let  go,"  cried  Martin  trium- 
phantly, and  at  the  same  moment  a  fearful 

[94] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MEECY 

shriek  arose  from  indoors.  Everyone  made  a 
dash  towards  the  entrance,  and  following  in 
their  wake  I  arrived  just  in  time  to  see  "La 
Petite  Jaquette"  emerge  from  the  doorway, 
sputtering  and  spitting  and  literally  covered 
with  some  clear,  slimy  liquid. 

"I'm  drowned,  I'm  suffocating — ^what  a 
dirty  trick  to  play — if  ever  I  get  hold  of  the 
rascal  who  did  it!"  gasped  Cinderella  junior. 

"Did  what?"  they  all  shrieked  in  chorus. 

"Threw  that  pot  of  nasty,  sticky  stuff  down 
the  chinmey  on  my  head!" 

"Sticky  stuff?"  The  boys  looked  at  each 
other  and  then  at  Betsy,  my  bull  dog,  who 
having  followed  "La  Petite  Jaquette"  in  his 
flight,  was  calmly  licking  the  ground  surround- 
ing him. 

"It's  honey,  I  do  beheve — of  course  it  is!" 

In  the  meantime  Martin  was  wildly  gesticu- 
lating from  the  roof. 

"Get  a  jar,  get  a  bowl,  don't  lose  any  of  it". 

Unfortunately  when  we  arrived  it  was  too 
late — the  lovely  honeycomb  had  received  too 
severe  a  shock  and  lay  burst  wide  apart  mid 
the  ashes  and  soot  in  the  fireplace.  In  its  fall 
it  had  smeared  the  sides  of  the  chimney,  and 

[95] 


MY    PIOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEKCY 


for  weeks  afterwards  one  could  smell  caramel 
whenever  Martin's  fire  gleamed  most  brightly. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  things  about  my 
hospital  from  a  psychological  point  of  view, 
was  the  rapidity  with  which  the  occupants  ac- 
quu-ed  the  sensation  of  possession.  Within  a 
fortnight  after  their  arrival  the  hospital  was  no 
longer  called  "Hospital  number  seven,"  but  our 
hospital — ^then  presently,  our  chateau — our 
Villiers.  Shortly  after  we  had  been  established 
the  convent  in  our  market  town,  some  four 
miles  down  the  road,  was  drafted  by  the  mili- 
tary authority  and  used  for  similar  purposes. 
When  there  was  a  lull  in  the  eternal  drizzle 
some  of  the  poor  fellows  at  Charly  who  were 
literally  cloistered,  would  take  a  constitu- 
tional, pushing  as  far  at  times  as  our  village. 
Seeing  our  Red  Cross  flag  one  or  two  of  them 
ventured  into  the  park,  but  were  promptly 
ejected  by  our  men. 

"This  is  private  property",  I  heard  them  say. 

"I  know",  timidly  protested  the  other,  "but 
it's  a  hospital  now". 

"What  if  it  is,  that  doesn't  make  it  pubhc, 
does  it?" 

[96  1 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

"No,  but"— 

''There  is  not  any  but  about  it,  we  don't 
come  down  to  Charly  snooping  around  in 
your  business,  do  we  ?  No !  then  don't  you  come 
snooping  around  up  here!" 

What  they  said  was  perfectly  true,  for 
though  there  was  a  ten  foot  wall  and  a  moat 
around  the  entire  property,  we  never  dreamed 
of  closing  the  gates,  even  at  night.  Aside  from 
promenades  in  the  park  when  weather  per- 
mitted, the  boys  did  not  seem  to  care  about 
tramping  on  the  high-road,  visiting  the  country 
round.  They  probably  realised  that  they'd 
have  more  of  that  than  they  bargained  for  just 
as  soon  as  they  left  us. 

Presently  our  doctor  announced  that  our 
patients  were  doing  so  well  that  two  medical 
inspections  a  day  were  useless,  henceforth  there 
would  be  but  one,  at  eight  in  the  morning.  Not 
long  afterwards  Madame  Guix  discovered  that 
around  five  p.  m.  few  of  the  boys  could  be  found 
indoors,  and  that  at  bedtime  many  of  them  had 
a  high  color,  bright  eyes  and  very  glib  tongues. 
From  the  housekeeper's  totals  it  was  easy  to 
discover  that  there  was  a  decided  falling  off  in 
appetite  at  the  evening  meal. 

[97] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MEKCY 

Something  was  amiss,  but  what?  Who  was 
doing  it?  How  was  it  done?  We  set  our 
brains  to  working,  and  very  quickly  we  sup- 
posed that  because  of  an  attractive  seventeen 
year  old  daughter,  Monceau,  the  one  and  only 
inn-keeper  in  the  town,  had  lured  the  boys  into 
his  cafe.  I  even  went  the  length  of  making  a 
surprise  visit  that  cost  me  a  bottle  of  peach 
brandy  for  which  I  then  had  no  use  whatsoever. 
All  of  no  avail. 

It  was  Lambert  who  let  the  cat  out  of  the 
bag.  For  some  unknown  reason  he  got  into  a 
dispute  with  George  who  peasant-like,  did  not 
make  much  choice  of  terms,  and  told  Lambert 
he  was  either  crazy  or  drunk. 

Resenting  both  insults,  but  sufficiently 
master  of  himself  to  realise  the  punishment  if 
he  were  proven  intoxicated,  the  chap  who  had 
bragged  about  belonging  to  the  Colonial  In- 
fantry, and  to  the  Belgian  Lancers  almost  in 
the  same  breath,  decided  to  act  the  madman. 
Falling  on  the  floor  he  began  wriggling  about, 
calling  for  his  wife  in  most  endearing  terms, 
and  literally  frightening  to  tears  the  women 
in  the  kitchen  who  ran  out  screaming  for  the 
doctor. 

[98] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

Madame  Guix  appeared  and  was  just  about 
to  be  taken  in  by  the  comedy,  when  the  doctor 
himself,  returning  from  his  walk  an  houi'  earlier 
than  usual,  loomed  upon  the  scene. 

Lambert's  delirium  redoubled.  It  was  in- 
deed high  art.  But  our  doctor  was  not  to  be 
fooled.  He  ordered  a  dash  of  ice  cold  water, 
and  then  that  Lambert  be  put  to  bed. 

Half  an  hour  later,  in  spite  of  his  every  effort 
to  seem  wild  and  wandering,  his  eyes  closed 
and  he  dropped  to  sleep.  And  it  was  while 
Madame  Guix  and  I  sat  near  him  wondering 
when  and  how  all  this  had  come  about,  that  our 
patient  began  mumbling  in  his  sleep.  At  first 
I  paid  no  attention  to  his  ramblings,  but  pres- 
ently when  the  words  "Pere  Poupard"  were 
repeated  again  and  again,  I  began  to  hsten 
more  closely. 

"I've  got  it",  I  said,  and  leaving  the  room  I 
threw  a  shawl  about  my  shoulders  and  started 
straight  for  Poupard's  cottage. 

Darkness  was  coming  on,  and  something  told 
me  to  look  through  the  window  before  knock- 
ing at  the  door.  Shading  my  eyes  with  my 
hand,  I  gazed  and  beheld — Father  Poupard  at 
one  end  of  the  table,  surrounded  by  a  full  score 

[99] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

of  my  patients  who  were  gently  sipping  from 
tumblers  different  qualities  of  the  old  man's 
home  brew.  Such  generosity  they  had  never 
encountered  in  all  their  lives. 

What  was  the  use  of  making  a  fuss  ?  I  con- 
fided my  discovery  to  the  doctor,  saying  I 
would  be  responsible  for  the  boys  if  he  would 
interview  Poupard. 

Next  morning,  all  I  said  to  the  whole  hos- 
pital assembled  was — "Gentlemen,  it  would  be 
wiser  to  discontinue  your  afternoon  tea 
parties." 

They  understood  and  obeyed. 


[100] 


IV 

"Madame^  I  no  longer  believe  in  God." 
This  startling  confession  which  literally  took 
me  off  my  feet  was  made  in  my  office  by  a  pale 
faced,  placid  looking  little  man  called  Batiot, 
who  had  asked  for  a  private  interview  and  was 
hardly  seated  before  he  burst  forth  with  the 
statement  as  though  anxious  to  relieve  his 
mind. 

Batiot  was  one  of  our  latest  arrivals,  and 
known  to  me  as  suffering  from  nervous  break- 
down. My  particular  attention  had  been 
drawn  to  him  through  the  fact  that  when  able 
to  get  about,  he  had  seemed  so  keenly  afflicted 
at  being  obliged  to  put  on  his  soiled  military 
togs,  that  for  our  own  moral  welfare,  as  well  as 
his,  we  had  scoured  the  village  and  finally  man- 
aged to  rig  him  out  with  a  threadbare  blue 
serge  suit,  two  sizes  too  large,  and  a  queer  little 
knitted  tamoshanter,  which  clung  to  his  head 
like  a  scull  cap.  Thus  equipped  he  had  a 
strange,  vague  resemblance  to  the  late  Presi- 
dent Carnot,  which  his  room  mates  had  not 

[101] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 


failed  to  observe,  and  from  then  on  he  was 
known  as  none  other. 

"What  do  you  mean  Batiot?  Surely  you 
are  jesting",  said  I  sparring  for  time. 

"No,  madame,  I  was  never  more  serious  in 
my  life." 

"Hum!  well  much  as  I'd  like  to  be  I  fear  I 
am  hardly  the  person  to  come  to  under  such 
ch-cumstances.    Were  you  a  Christian?" 

"Yes." 

"A  Cathohc?" 

"Yes." 

"Then,  I  should  advise  you  to  have  a  talk  with 
our  priest  down  at  Charly.  If  you  are  not  well 
enough  to  go,  I'll  try  to  make  arrangements  to 
have  him  come  here.    Does  that  suit  you?" 

"Le  President"  said  it  did,  but  with  no  ap- 
parent enthusiasm,  and  our  conversation  ended 
there. 

Not  even  my  onerous  daily  duties  drove  that 
interview  from  my  mind.  It  worried  me. 
Here  was  one  more  proof  that  the  spirit  of  un- 
rest was  gaining  foothold  in  our  midst.  Vari- 
ous insignificant  incidents,  together  with  the 
"Tea  parties  chez  Poupard"  were  sufficient 
indication  that  the  boys  were  chafing  for  the 

[102] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

want  of  something  to  amuse  them.  But  what? 
We  had  racked  om-  brains  and  invented  every 
plausible  pastime  for  grown-ups  that  our  lun- 
ited  means  permitted. 

Deciding  that  two  heads  were  better  than 
one,  I  went  to  Madame  Guix  about  the  matter. 

"They're  just  longing  for  something  to  do," 
she  said. 

"I  quite  agree  with  you.  Can  you  suggest 
something?  You  know  they're  not  strong 
enough  to  take  up  military  training  of  any 
kind,  otherwise  they'd  have  been  dismissed 
from  here  long  ago  and  sent  to  their  barracks." 

"Surely,  but  perhaps  there  are  other  less 
fatiguing  things.  You  see  they've  been  civil- 
ians so  long  here  that  their  remembrances  of 
their  military  campaign  have  become  misty, 
and  their  ordinary  occupations  are  what  they 
crave.  I  don't  believe  any  one  of  them  ever 
had  so  much  time  to  be  ill  in  all  his  life." 

I  smiled,  realizing  that  my  companion  was 
right.  But  how  to  go  about  it  ?  We  had  men 
from  every  branch  of  the  trades,  and  the  pros- 
pect of  opening  up  a  blacksmith  shop,  or  a 
glass  factory  seemed  hardly  feasible  at  the 
moment,  and  I  said  so, 

[103] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

"Mercy"!  exclaimed  Madame  Guix,  "I  don't 
mean  anything  of  the  kind  is  necessary.  Most 
of  our  boys  have  probably  some  homely 
domestic  talent  that  they  are  ashamed  to  dis- 
play unless  we  prove  we  are  all  in  need  of  it. 
They're  far  too  timid  to  volunteer." 

"Do  you  really  think  so?" 

"I'm  sure  of  it,  and  you  would  laugh  if  you 
were  in  the  drawing-room  this  minute  and 
could  see  Paul  and  'Chou'  winding  off  my 
skein  of  wool." 

"What's  the  president  by  trade"?  I  asked 
her. 

"I  don't  know  but  I'll  find  out  at  once." 

In  a  few  moments  she  returned  bearing  the 
news  that  he  was  a  tailor ! 

"What  luck — the  sergeant  has  been  boring 
the  doctor  to  death  for  the  last  week  begging 
permission  to  go  to  headquarters  and  ask  for 
a  pair  of  trousers.  His  are  all  worn  out.  Do 
you  think  the  president  would  object  to  put- 
ting on  the  patch?" 

We  called  him  and  put  the  question.  From 
the  way  his  eyes  brightened,  I  felt  we  were  not 
mistaken. 

"All  I  need  is  a  thimble,  needles,  thread,  a 

[  104] 


MY    HOME   IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MEKCY 


table  and  the  material,  and  I'd  make  you  a  suit 
if  vou'd  like  to  have  me." 

The  thimble,  needles  and  thread  were  easy 
enough  to  procure,  but  an  empty  table,  in  a 
place  where  furniture  was  already  so  scarce 
gave  us  food  for  reflection — and  when  we  had 
solved  the  problem  by  sacrificing  our  own  din- 
ing-room board  between  meals,  the  question 
of  the  material  out  of  which  to  make  the 
patches  proved  to  be  a  puzzler.  It  was  useless 
to  think  of  going  to  a  store.  There  were  no 
drapers  at  Villiers  and  at  Charly,  Madame 
Maury  had  had  her  place  looted  and  burned  by 
the  Germans. 

"I'll  tell  you",  suddenly  piped  up  the 
president,  "You  get  Lambert  to  give  us  his 
Zouave  bloomers;  there's  enough  in  them  to 
make  him  a  fine  pair  of  ordinary  trousers,  and 
there'll  be  plenty  left  over  to  do  all  the  patch- 
ing we  need." 

What  a  brilliant  idea!  We  acted  upon  it 
immediately,  but  evidently  counted  without 
Lambert,  for  if  we  had  proposed  to  rob  him 
of  his  soul,  I  hardly  think  any  mortal  could 
have  been  more  indignant.     He  flew  into  a 


rage. 


[105] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEECY 


"What,  take  my  bloomers  to  make  patches! 
Never!  I'd  rather  go  out  and  throw  them  in 
the  river  than  let  you  put  your  scissors  into 
them — you  sacrilegious,  white  livered,  jelly- 
fish!" he  screamed  at  the  helpless  tailor  who 
had  politely  made  the  demand.  "Trousers  that 
have  seen  every  battle  front  in  France  and  in 
Africa",  he  continued.  "Not  much!  These 
bloomers  go  where  I  go,  and  the  only  person 
that  stands  a  chance  of  getting  them  is  the 
fellow  that  picks  up  my  dead  body!" 

His  anger  degenerated  into  tears  on  my  ap- 
pearance, and  the  proud  owner  of  the  "Culotte 
de  Zouave"  offered  us  his  wedding  ring,  his 
jack-knife,  a  soldier's  most  cherished  belong- 
ings, if  only  we  would  leave  him  his  bloomers. 
It  is  useless  to  insist,  in  fact  I  had  no  right  to, 
but  as  by  dinner  time  we  had  found  no  other 
way  of  procuring  material,  I  confided  my 
dilemma  to  our  officers,  and  jokingly  recounted 
our  fruitless  efforts  to  deprive  Lambert  of  his 
possessions. 

They  were  greatly  amused  and  laughed 
heartily.  Presently  the  doctor  sat  bolt  up- 
right. 

"Lambert"?    said  he,  "Lambert?    Why  if 

[106] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

I  recall  aright  he  doesn't  belong  to  the  Zouaves 
at  all"!    He  rang  for  the  sergeant. 

"Godec",  said  he,  "I  beheve  you've  got  the 
men's  military  books  in  safe  keeping." 

"Yes  sir." 

"Well  then,  just  bring  me  in  Lambert's,  will 
you?" 

"Certainly  sir." 

In  a  few  moments  he  returned.  The  doctor 
took  the  book  from  him,  and  bending  over 
to  the  hght  carefully  read  through  the  first 
page. 

"That  will  do",  said  he.  The  sergeant  dis- 
appeared, and  he  had  hardly  closed  the  door 
before  the  doctor  turned  about  to  us,  his  eyes 
bright  with  amusement. 

"Lambert",  said  he,  "'Lambert  doesn't  any 
more  belong  to  the  Zouaves  than  I  do.  He's 
a  simple  private  in  the  trth  Infantry,  that's 
all!  Heaven  knows  where  he  got  those  trous- 
ers, but  he  hasn't  the  slightest  right  in  the  world 
to  them.  You  needn't  look  any  further  for 
your  patches." 

Anxious  to  avoid  any  imperative  scene  be- 
tween officer  and  private,  I  suggested  we  send 
our  night-watchman  to  see  if  he  couldn't  find 

[107] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MEKCY 

them  hanging  in  the  proper  place.  But  the  man 
returned  to  say  that,  suspicious  of  our  plans, 
Lambert  had  retired  entirely  clothed. 

I  was  absent  the  next  morning  when  the 
sacrifice  was  made,  but  about  ten  o'clock  when 
I  came  into  the  dining-room  the  president 
was  proudly  perched  cross-legged  on  the  table, 
inserting  a  "piece  of  pie"  into  his  own  red 
broadcloth  trousers. 

"It  may  seem  selfish  to  do  my  own  first",  he 
explained,  a  radiant  smile  lighting  up  his  face. 
"But  you  see  when  I  can  put  on  my  own  uni- 
form, I  can  lend  my  civilian  clothes  to  another 
fellow  so  he  wont  have  to  go  to  bed  while  I'm 
patching  his." 

So  popular  was  the  president's  tailor  shop 
that  a  long  waiting  list  had  to  be  established, 
and  his  example  stimulated  a  cleaner  to  steam 
and  press  the  battered  kepis  of  his  friends, 
who  were  so  proud  of  their  new  uniforms 
that  on  Sundays  they  marched  to  mass  two 
abreast,  the  president  leading,  instead  of 
slinking  out  one  at  a  time  in  the  hope  of  not 
attracting  attention. 

The  haberdashery  department  was  not  the 
sole  beneficiary  of  this  streak  of  enthusiasm. 

[  108] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MERCY 

Once  the  president  had  set  the  pace  the 
others  quickly  followed  suit,  and  in  a  couple  of 
days  the  happy  humming  and  whistlings  that 
came  from  all  quarters,  denoted  that  each  one 
had  found  a  congenial  occupation. 

By  applying  to  the  wife  of  a  mobilised 
mason,  we  procured  lime  and  plaster,  and 
under  the  supervision  of  Martin,  a  building 
squad  worked  two  hours  each  pleasant  after- 
noon repairing  the  damage  inflicted  by  the 
Hun  on  the  facade  of  the  chateau. 

Chou  and  his  ward  neighbour  and  boon 
companion,  Thierage,  had  been  particularly 
singled  out  by  the  doctor  and  the  pharmacist, 
and  just  as  soon  as  their  condition  permitted 
they  were  removed  from  the  drawing-room 
ward,  promoted  to  officer's  orderlies,  and  al- 
lotted quarters  in  the  servants'  wing,  which  was 
not  so  easy  to  heat.  They  were  especially  priv- 
ileged mortals,  and  I  am  glad  to  say  that  they 
never  for  a  moment  sought  to  take  advantage 
of  their  situation.  They  literally  ferreted  the 
house  from  cellar  to  attic  in  search  of  whatever 
their  daily  occupations  convinced  them  they 
required,  and  to  this  day  I  can  see  them  in  the 
com't-yard  cleaning  the  officers'  sabres  with 

[109] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

fine  sand  and  lemon  rinds.  Their  own  guns 
underwent  the  same  strenuous  treatment,  after 
which  they  were  carefully  greased  and  put 
away.  But  with  the  sabres  it  was  quite  differ- 
ent, and  fear  that  they  should  rust  set  Chou 
to  thinking.  A  couple  of  hours  later  I  came 
upon  him  begging  the  president  to  sew  to- 
gether long  strips  of  variegated  rags,  which 
more  resembled  a  kite-tail  than  anything  I 
could  think  of.  I  said  nothing,  but  watched, 
and  presently  when  the  tailor  had  complied 
with  his  request,  I  saw  Chou  sit  down  and 
start  to  entwine  the  doctor's  scabbard,  imitat- 
ing to  perfection,  Madame  Guix's  movements 
and  gestures  when  she  was  bandaging  up  an 
arm  or  a  leg. 

I  had  little  or  no  occasion  to  visit  the  ser- 
vants' quarters,  and  a  leak,  I  think  it  was  that 
summoned  my  presence  to  that  vicinity.  So  I 
profited  by  the  occasion  to  see  how  the  "Heav- 
enly Twins"  were  installed  and  if  they  needed 
anything  I  might  be  able  to  lend  them.  I  could 
hardly  believe  my  eyes  when  I  opened  the  door 
for  no  chamhre  de  jeune  fille  was  ever  more 
invitingly  arranged. 

From  damaged  rolls  of  paper  that  had  been 

[110] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 


thrown  out  by  a  hanger  at  Charly,  whose  stock 
had  been  wrecked,  Chou  and  Thierage  man- 
aged to  pick  out  enough  of  a  kind  to  cover  their 
room.  With  infinite  pains  they  had  measured 
their  window,  and  begged  Mademoiselle  Alice 
to  put  a  hem  into  two  lengths  of  cheese  cloth, 
which  they  explained  they  needed  for  personal 
use.  Two  small,  neatly-made-up  iron  hospital 
beds  occupied  one  side,  and  between  them,  and 
as  sole  ornament  on  that  wall,  a  lithograph  of 
General  Joffre,  extracted  from  a  back  number 
of  "L'lllustration". 

The  other  wall  was  a  wonder  to  behold.  Ex- 
actly in  the  centre  was  a  marvellously  con- 
structed panoply  composed  of  their  guns, 
bayonets,  knap-sacks  and  minor  military  trap- 
pings, together  with  what  German  trophies 
they  had  been  able  to  retain  unobserved,  and 
on  every  other  available  square  inch  of  space 
was  hung  a  clock!  Such  ticking  you  never 
heard ! 

Watch  repairer  by  trade,  Thierage  in  his 
rummagings  had  unearthed  different  parts  of 
my  various  time  pieces,  had  soaked  them  in 
kerosene,  and  finally  put  them  together.  Some 
fifteen  or  sixteen  wrist  watches,  hung  up  by 

[111] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEKCY 

their  straps,  made  a  regular  fringe  to  a  shelf, 
and  not  satisfied  with  regulating  all  he  could 
procure  in  the  entire  chateau,  he  had  been  out 
in  the  village  and  solicited  everything  from 
grandfather  to  alarm  clocks. 

A  couple  of  Southerners  had  investigated 
the  interior  of  my  piano  which  was  much  the 
worse  for  two  hundred  pots  of  jam  that  the 
Germans  had  seen  fit  to  pour  over  the  strings. 
They  rolled  the  instrument  into  a  back  room 
and  during  the  next  week  used  everything  from 
rakes  to  monkey  wrenches  trying  to  make  the 
thing  play.  They  succeeded  fairly  well,  the 
upper  notes  responding  to  treatment.  But  the 
bass  was  hopeless.  Only  three  notes  survived 
the  cure  and  they  formed  the  C  major  chord. 

"Never  mind",  cheerily  ejaculated  a  lyric 
artist  from  Beziers.  "The  bass  never  counts 
anyhow.  There  are  enough  notes  left  to  do  all 
I  need."  And  he  was  as  good  as  his  word  for 
everything  from  "Carmen"  to  the  "Machiche" 
was  played  and  sung  with  the  same  accompani- 
ment. 

On  days  when  they  were  obliged  to  remain 
indoors,  the  piano  was  going  from  dawn  until 
bedtime,   and   there   were   moments    when   I 

[112] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

thought  I  should  go  mad.  But  the  boys  didn't 
seem  to  mind  it  in  the  least. 

I  wonder  who  it  was  that  first  inaugurated 
the  brilliant  idea  of  teaching  "Sidi"  the  French 
language.  Probably  Bressy,  a  tall  artillery 
trumpeter,  his  neighbour  in  their  ward. 
Straightway  of  course  all  the  others  offered 
their  services  as  professors,  and  the  different 
methods  that  were  employed  were  sufficient  to 
muddle  a  far  clearer  brain  than  that  possessed 
by  Amed-ben-Mohamed.  The  oral  system,  by 
syllables,  rapidly  became  a  favourite  because 
every  one  could  participate  therein,  and  rainy 
afternoons  one  could  hear  the  entire  convales- 
cent hospital  repeating  in  chorus,  for  hours  at 
a  time,  "Ba,  be,  hi,  bo,  bu",  "Da,  de,  di,  do, 
du",  etc. 

They  cut  out  the  entire  alphabet  from  the 
headlines  of  old  newspapers,  pasting  the  letters 
in  order  on  a  strip  of  cardboard.  This  prim- 
itive sheet  was  rapidly  replaced  by  a  highly 
ornamented  affair,  made  by  Sergeant  Godec  in 
person,  who  was  so  interested  in  the  progress 
of  the  pupil,  that  he  actually  neglected  a  cherry 
wood  pipe  he  was  carving  in  order  to  provide 
Sidi  with  proper  material.     The  poor  Moroc- 

[113] 


JVIY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

can  would  repeat  the  letters  one  after  another, 
and  then  with  a  pointer  someone  would  indicate 
a  certain  capital.  Nine  times  out  of  ten  Sidi 
would  make  an  erroneous  reply ;  there  were  mo- 
ments when  I  wondered  if  he  didn't  do  it  on 
purpose.  For  when  perchance  he  articulated 
the  proper  sound,  the  whole  room  would  turn 
to  me  for  applause  of  their  trimnph. 

Amed-ben-Mohamed  was  not  ignorant  by 
any  means.  Aping  his  fellow  men  he  used  to 
write  long  pages  of  neat  hieroglyphics  and  put 
them  carefully  away  in  his  pocket. 

"To  Fatma"?  mischievously  inquired  a  wag, 
pointing  to  Sidi's  letter. 

''Oui,  oui,  oui",  was  the  prompt  and  joyous 
reply.  "Fatma,  wife  Amed."  At  which  there 
was  a  general  shriek  of  delight  and  Godec  ex- 
claimed, "You  see  how  his  French  is  improv- 
ing." 

From  somewhere  in  the  attic  Chou  and 
Thierage  brought  to  light  my  very  dilapidated 
tapestry  frame  with  a  half  finished  canvas  still 
stretched  upon  it.  Our  cabinet  maker  at  once 
offered  his  services,  and  the  damage  to  the 
spindle-legs  was  quickly  repaii'cd.  So  each 
day,  in  the  half  hour  that  preceded  dinner, 

[114] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

Madame  Guix  amused  herself  by  continuing 
the  work  I  had  ah-eady  begun.  The  boys  clus- 
tered around  her,  fascinated  by  the  little  even 
rows  of  stitches  and  the  gradual  development 
of  the  intricate,  multi-colored  design  tickled 
their  artistic  sense,  so  keen  even  among  the 
most  uneducated  in  France. 

"I'll  bet  I  could  do  that  almost  as  smoothly 
as  you",  finally  declared  Paul,  who  from  the 
very  start  had  been  aching  to  get  in  his  hand 
at  it. 

"Do  you?    Would  you  like  to  try  it?" 

"Rather!  I'll  pull  it  out  if  I  go  wrong,  I 
promise." 

"Oh,  it's  not  very  difficult." 

Laying  aside  his  crutches  the  lad  took  Ma- 
dame Guix's  seat.  After  a  trifling  hesitation 
he  soon  caught  the  manner,  and  so  intent  was  he 
on  doing  well  that  the  great  beads  of  perspira- 
tion rolled  from  his  brow.  At  the  end  of  three 
rows  he  looked  up,  wiped  his  face  and  ex- 
claimed, "Gee,  this  is  great.  Something  I  can 
really  do  to  help." 

"Can't  you  put  a  chair  on  the  other  side  of 
the  frame,  I'd  like  to  try  too?"  This  from  a 
young  shaggy  haired  miner. 

[115] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

"Surely,  as  many  as  you  like,  or  rather,  as 
many  as  the  frame  will  accommodate." 

A  precedent  was  created,  and  for  weeks 
afterwards  the  boys  had  regular  hours  at  the 
frame,  each  more  than  critical  of  the  degree  of 
smoothness  attained  by  his  neighbour's  needle. 
We  watched  their  progress,  which  was  really 
remarkable  and  when  bedtime  came,  they  were 
loath  to  put  the  frame  aside. 

Presently  I  became  so  busy  that  three  days 
elapsed  before  I  had  time  to  give  their  tapestry 
a  moment's  attention.  Paul,  alone,  was  seated 
at  the  frame  and  as  I  leaned  over  his  shoulder 
I  was  surprised  to  see  that  an  often  repeated 
motif  which  on  the  entire  canvas  had  been 
worked  in  blue  was  in  two  places  done  in 
pink. 

"Whose  fantasy  is  this"?  I  queried  with  a 
smile. 

"The  sergeant's." 

"Codec's?    Has  he  been  working  at  it  too?" 

"Yes,  but  all  wrong",  was  the  disdainful 
reply.  "I  nearly  had  a  fight  with  him  about  it. 
I  think  he's  gone  queer  because  when  I  told 
him  that  wasn't  the  right  colour,  he  informed 
me  I  didn't  know  what  I  was  talking  about, 

[116] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

and  to  mind  my  own  business.  He  even  went 
over  to  the  window  to  match  the  shade,  and 
came  back  and  worked  that  scroll  in  pink!" 

I  laughed.  "He  is  not  queer,  just  colour 
blind",  I  explained. 

Anyone  interested  in  the  study  of  physiog- 
nomy would  have  had  ample  examples  at  hos- 
pital number  seven  during  those  first  months 
of  the  war.  Mail  service  which  had  to  be  or- 
ganized according  to  the  new  conditions  of  the 
country  was  rather  incoherent,  but  when  the 
letters  did  come  the  boys'  faces  were  marvels  to 
behold.  Expectancy  quickly  changed  to  de- 
light or  disappointment,  gleamed  from  all  eyes 
as  the  military  post  man  drove  into  the  yard. 

At  first  we  used  to  assemble  the  men  and  the 
sergeant  would  call  out  their  names.  But  I 
quickly  put  a  stop  to  that  proceeding  when  I 
realised  how  many  had  their  families  in  invaded 
territory  and  would  look  in  vain  for  news.  My 
own  feelings  made  me  sympathise  for  it  was 
now  well  into  November,  and  since  the  first 
week  in  August  I  had  had  but  three  letters  from 
my  husband.  Thereafter  mail  was  sorted  and 
placed  on  the  hall  table  and  it  was  surprising 
the  amount  of  correspondence  received  by  cer- 

[117] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

tain  silent  men  about  whom  we  knew  little  or 
nothing,  and  fancied  for  some  reason  that  no 
one  else  did. 

Presently  the  parcel  post  packages  began 
arriving  and  the  boys  never  failed  to  share  their 
contents  with  their  bed  neighbours,  and  often 
with  their  entire  ward,  when  size  permitted. 
Eventually,  as  weeks  went  by,  arose  the  deli- 
cate question  of  accepting  when  one  was  cer- 
tain of  never  receiving  anything  with  which  to 
return  the  compliment.  Oh,  what  wonderful 
charitable  work  could  have  been,  and  can  still 
be  done  in  this  field,  by  way  of  anonymous 
packages  and  trifling  money  orders  that  cost 
little  or  nothing.  It  made  my  heart  ache  not  to 
be  able  to  wire  some  kind  friend  and  feel  sure 
of  a  substantial  reply  by  return  mail. 

Oftentimes  there  was  great  rejoicing  when 
in  a  round  about  way  someone  got  news  that 
his  family  had  fled  during  the  invasion  and 
was  safe  and  sound  in  some  remote  corner  of 
France,  patiently  awaiting  the  time  to  return 
home. 

Coming  into  the  drawing-room  quite  late  one 
morning  I  was  surprised  to  see  Paul  stretched 
out  on  his  bed  with  his  face  buried  in  his  pillow. 

[118] 


^-?^fe^ 


''"■^ 


.'-^'^'tsS^ 


SOMEONE  GOT  NEWS  THAT  HIS  FAMILY  HAD 
FLED  DURING  THE  INVASION 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

''Eh  hien,  Paul,  what's  the  trouble  ?  Are  you 
ill?" 

The  only  answer  was  the  heaving  of  his 
shoulders. 

"Has  anything  happened?"  I  hastily  in- 
quired of  a  soldier  who  put  his  head  in  at  the 
door. 

"I  couldn't  say,  all  I  know  is  that  he  got  his 
first  letter  this  morning." 

I  returned  to  Paul's  bedside.  As  I  ap- 
proached, without  lifting  his  head  the  boy 
stretched  out  his  hand  and  poked  a  soiled,  much 
post-marked  envelope  into  mine. 

"Read  it,  read  it;  it's  from  my  brother,"  was 
all  he  said. 

Turning  to  the  window  I  drew  the  missive 
from  its  cover  and  read.  When  I  had  finished, 
I  wiped  my  eyes  and  read  it  again.  And  here 
follows  a  humble  translation  of  an  original, 
which  in  spite  of  many  faults  in  spelling,  to  me 
is  scriptural  in  its  primitive  but  noble  sim- 
plicity. 

"My  dear  Brother: 

I  hasten  to  write  you  for  I  have  just  found 
out  where  you  might  be.  I  have  thought  of 
you  so  much,  and  I  have  asked  myself  again 

[119] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

and  again,  and  everywhere  on  the  road  I  have 
asked  if  anyone  knew  the  Coutins. 

I  have  found  Louis — but  dead.  Let  me  tell 
you; 

I  met  some  of  the  ninety-first  Infantry.  I 
spoke  to  one  of  them  whom  I  had  seen  be- 
fore near  Charleville.  I  asked  him  where  he 
was  wounded.  He  said,  "I've  got  a  bullet  in 
the  arm".  Then  he  told  me  of  his  campaign. 
He  said,  "What  I  regret  the  most  is  my  dear- 
est comrade  who  fell  at  my  side  with  a  splinter 
of  shell  in  the  stomach."  Then  he  named  Louis 
Coutin  who  lived  in  La  Cachette. 

When  he  named  our  brother  I  did  not  know 
what  to  say.  I  listened.  Then  he  told  me 
that  he  had  fought  like  a  lion — afraid  of 
nothing.  Then  he  said,  he  spoke  often  of  us. 
Then  I  told  him  I  was  his  brother.  Then  he 
embraced  me  for  us  all.  That,  dear  brother,  is 
the  way  Louis  died. 

The  sergeant  in  his  section  took  all  his  papers 
and  sent  them  to  his  wife. 

Paul  you  must  answer  me  at  once.  I  know 
that  you  have  been  wounded.  I  hope  you  are 
better,  and  that  this  will  find  you  about  again. 
Don't  fail  to  write  me. 

I  am  in  the  trenches,  not  thirty  yards  from 
the  Boches.  So  many  as  I  can  lay  hands  on, 
so  many  less.    I  shall  avenge  Louis. 

I  am  so  glad  to  have  found  Blanche  and 

[  120  ] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

Remond,   we  will  write  to  each  other  often 
now. 

I  close  wishing  you  a  prompt  recovery.  Your 
brother  who  embraces  you  with  all  his  heart, 

Alfred  Coutin 
332  Inf.  17th.  Comp. 
61st.  Div. 

Postal  Sector  103. 

And  to  Paul's  prompt  reply  came  the  fol- 
lowing from  the  valiant  father  of  five  small 
children,  left  motherless  through  grief  to  be 
cared  for  in  a  foundling  asylum,  then  within 
the  enemy's  lines. 

Monday,  November  9th,  1914. 
Dear  Paul : — 

I  am  sending  you  a  line  to  say  that  we  are  to 
be  relieved  to-morrow.  As  soon  as  I  get  to 
cover  I  will  write  you.  It  is  much  easier.  For 
with  the  nights  we've  just  been  through, 
drenched  to  the  skin,  and  bombardment  all 
day  long,  it's  an  infernal  place  to  work  in. 
Those  pigs  of  Germans  sow  their  shells  all  over 
the  place  without  doing  any  damage.  I  think 
if  they  are  artillery  men  at  all,  they  must  be- 
long to  the  class  of  1915,  for  my  kid  could  do 
as  much  as  they  with  their  guns.  More  noise 
than  harm.  Let  me  tell  you  I  had  the  nerve  to 
go  fishing  right  under  their  noses.    At  night — 

[121] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

rain.  I  made  a  fine  catch.  You  can  bet  the 
next  night  I  went  back,  each  time  with  much 
precaution.  You  must  really  love  fishing  to 
throw  a  line  within  twenty  yards  of  them.  I 
caught  a  "Rosette"  that  weighed  over  a  pound. 
It  made  an  infernal  racket.  I  saw  the  moment 
when  I'd  have  to  drop  it  and  quit.  I  stayed 
on  just  the  same,  my  rifle  beside  me;  that's  the 
only  friend  I  know. 

Later. 
Dear  Paul : — 

I  hope  my  line  will  find  you.  As  soon  as  I 
get  to  cover  I'll  write.  I  will  tell  you  every- 
thing since  my  departure  from  Rethel.  I've 
been  some  distance;  at  least  twice  around  the 
world.  You  will  see,  it's  very  interesting. 
We've  been  very  lucky. 

Send  a  word  of  greeting  from  me  to  all  those 
who  write  you.  Blanche  writes  me  that  she  is 
going  to  send  you  something.  I  don't  know 
just  what.    I  close  with  an  embrace. 

Your  brother  Alfred. 

Three  consecutive  bright  days  put  the  finish- 
ing touches  to  the  convalescence  of  many  men 
who  did  not  realise  that  health  could  return  so 
rapidly.  The  air  was  crisp  and  bracing  and 
there  was  no  need  of  coaxing  them  abroad. 

[122] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEKCY 

They  went  gladly,  seeking  occupation  to  keep 
them  stirring,  anxious  to  be  of  use. 

All  the  leaves  were  swept  from  the  imme- 
diate vicinity  of  the  house,  and  a  fatigue  party 
was  organized  to  eliminate  them  from  the  eight 
hundred  yards  of  driveway  that  leads  to  our 
farthest  gate.  George,  as  head  gardener, 
sui  ervised  the  work,  and  it  was  while  accom- 
plishing this  task  that  the  idea  of  setting  up  a 
steeple  chase  in  the  grande  allee  and  invit- 
ing my  greyhounds  to  participate  originated 
in  the  heads  of  these  French  sportsmen. 

Accordingly  boards  and  brushwood  were  col- 
lected, and  hurdles  grading  from  two  to  seven 
feet  were  established  at  even  intervals  all  along 
the  line.  Both  dogs  were  sadly  out  of  training 
and  Tiger  balked  at  the  high  jumps.  But 
Clarice,  daughter  of  Jumper,  delighted  our 
eyes  by  the  graceful  way  she  accomplished  the 
feats.  Even  Betsy,  the  bull  dog,  wanted  to  be 
in  the  game  while  the  dignified  old  foxhound 
only  sniffed  at  these  unheard-of  proceedings 
and  took  his  way  into  the  woods,  unmolested. 

Decidedly  Tiger  must  be  limbered  up,  so  he 
was  put  through  a  course  of  training  and 
coaxed  to  accomplish  another  foot  each  day. 

[123] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 


One  afternoon  he  was  in  the  act  of  clearing  the 
sixth  hurdle,  when  from  the  distance  the  voice 
of  the  old  fox  hound  warned  us  he  had  located 
something,  and  ten  seconds  later  a  long,  lithe 
hare  darted  from  the  bushes  and  leaped  to  the 
other  side  of  the  road. 

Tiger  had  seen  him  and  needed  no  persuasion 
to  take  the  seventh  obstacle.  All  the  boys  lad 
caught  sight  of  him  as  well,  and  steeple  chase 
was  forgotten  in  the  pursuit  of  a  much  more 
important  sport — real  hve  coursing  in  the 
open  country. 

Not  since  that  eventful  day  when  Codec  and 
his  men  had  nearly  lost  their  places,  had  the 
word  "hunting"  ever  been  mentioned.  But 
now  the  movement  was  so  spontaneous  that  it 
would  have  been  folly  to  try  to  suppress  it. 

They  were  off! 

What  a  wild  merry  chase  that  animal  led 
them.  Up  hill,  down  dale,  at  one  time  almost 
into  a  stable  door,  at  another  through  the 
toughest  thicket  at  the  extreme  end  of  our 
grounds.  As  though  previously  arranged  it 
took  its  homeward  course  straight  down  the 
long  avenue,  and  hterally  bumped  into  httle 
Betsey,  who  true  to  the  traditions  of  her  race, 

[124] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

struck  her  teeth  into  whatever  came  her  way, 
and  held  on.  It  happened  to  be  the  hare's  ear, 
and  while  she  hadn't  strength  enough  to  pin 
him  to  the  ground  she  refused  to  let  go,  and  he 
was  unable  to  shake  her  off.  He  had  to  carry 
her  with  him  in  his  flight,  which,  however,  was 
considerably  impeded  by  the  fourteen  pounds 
of  bull  dog  that  was  rolling  by  his  side.  This 
gave  Tiger  a  chance  to  redeem  himself  and 
pouncing  upon  his  prey  he  raised  him  in  his 
mouth,  and  with  Betsy  who  still  refused  to  let 
go,  madly  clinging  to  its  ear,  he  proudly  laid 
the  fruit  of  two  hours  coursing  at  my  feet. 

That  night  as  we  clustered  about  the  fire 
and  waited  for  the  chestnuts  we  had  buried  in 
the  ashes  to  roast,  I  gazed  at  the  then  vigorous 
faces  of  our  patients  and  decided  once  and  for- 
ever that  fresh  air  and  exercise  are  really 
wonderful  remedies  when  properly  adminis- 
tered. 


[125] 


Three  times  during  the  same  week  our 
doctor  was  called  to  headquarters.  Each  time 
he  returned  his  face  was  ^rave  and  anxious 
looking,  and  on  the  evening  of  his  third  visit  I 
could  no  longer  refrain  from  asking  questions. 
I  feared  lest  he  had  heard  some  ill  news  of  our 
armies  and  hesitated  to  alarm  us. 

"No  bad  tidings  from  the  front,  doctor,  I 
hope?" 

"No.    No  indeed." 

"Nothing  new  as  far  as  we  are  concerned?" 

"If  new  means  the  evacuation  of  our  present 
contingent,  yes." 

Though  I  had  daily  expected  word  to  this 
effect,  it  was  something  of  a  shock  when  it 
came.  One  cannot  live  in  constant  contact  with 
such  good  humored  lads  as  ours,  have  cared  for 
their  every  want,  brought  them  back  to  health, 
besides  participating  in  their  joys  and  sorrows, 
without  feeling  a  pull  at  one's  heartstrings  on 
receiving  word  that  they  are  considered  fit  to 
rejoin  the  ranks. 

"When  are  they  to  go?" 

[126] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MERCY 

"Within  the  next  day  or  two." 

"And  what  is  to  become  of  us,  our  hospital, 
afterwards?" 

"That  depends  entirely  on  you." 

"On  me." 

"Yes." 

"IIow  can  it?  I'm  at  the  disposal  of  head- 
quarters." 

"Well,  my  instructions  to-night  are  to  ask 
you  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  'Medecin-Chef  to- 
morrow. I've  brought  you  back  a  passport  and 
the  pass  word." 

Seven  o'clock  the  next  morning  found  me  on 
the  front  seat  of  our  little  farm  trap,  with 
Chou  as  driver  and  companion.  Not  that  there 
was  any  danger  should  I  have  chosen  to  go 
alone.  Chou's  presence  on  this  occasion  was 
due  to  the  fact  that  during  the  night  he  had  de- 
veloped an  ulcerated  tooth,  and  his  face  was 
swollen  beyond  recognition.  The  nearest  dent- 
ist was  at  Chateau  Thierry,  so  naturally  I  had 
not  hesitated  to  take  him  with  me. 

How  strange  it  seemed  to  be  jogging  along 
in  this  primitive  fashion  on  roads  we  had  so 
often  and  so  comfortably  travelled  in  our 
motor.    How  strange  never  to  meet  a  vehicle 

[  127] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

other  than  an  army  supply  cart,  or  a  wood 
truck. 

This  was  my  first  visit  to  the  city  of  Jean 
La  Fontaine  since  it  had  become  a  hospital 
centre,  and  my  ride  along  the  river  front 
showed  me  that  not  a  single  house  had  been 
exempt  from  shell  fire  during  the  battle  of  the 
Marne.  But  one  could  see  that  each  proprietor 
was  doing  his  utmost  to  repair  the  exterior 
damage,  at  least,  and  six  weeks  later  on  another 
visit  I  found  everything  apparently  restored 
to  its  normal  condition. 

Headquarters  was  at  the  Hotel  Dieu,  and  it 
was  there  that  Chou  deposited  me  shortly  after 
nine  o'clock,  with  instructions  to  return  for  me 
within  an  hour,  he  driving  off  in  quest  of  a 
dentist. 

To  reach  the  doctor's  office  I  crossed  the 
court  and  on  entering  the  establishment  was 
surprised  to  find  myself  in  the  presence  of  the 
wounded  immediately  on  stepping  into  the 
vestibule.  I  was  hurried  down  a  little  dark 
passage  at  the  end  of  which  I  was  ushered  into 
a  dingy,  ill-lighted  hall  room  occupied  by  the 
doctor  and  his  three  secretary-orderlies. 

Doctor  L.  apologised  for  receiving  me  in 

[128] 


i^ 


5^    i         . 


"A 


-Tit'' 


-^ri 


^r 


^ 


i,  it 


■  ■    A  i,V 


r.pSXi^ 


■f^,. 


%^ 


NOT    A    SINGLE    HOUSE    HAD    fJEEN 
EXEMPT    FROM    SHELL-FIRE 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MERCY 

such  humble  quarters — explained  that  every 
other  available  space  was  necessary  for  hospital 
needs,  and  then  went  straight  to  the  point  of 
my  visit. 

"Madame  Huard,  I  sent  for  you  to  tell  you 
that  we  are  going  to  evacuate  your  entii-e  hos- 
pital." 

"Very  well,  doctor." 

"But  that  is  not  the  chief  reason  why  I  have 
asked  you  to  make  this  tiresome  trip.  I  am 
very  well  satisfied  with  the  way  Annex  Num- 
ber Seven  has  functioned,  but  I  want  to  ask  you 
personally  to  make  a  bigger  sacrifice  for  our 
country." 

"Certainly  Doctor,  what?" 

"Take  contagious  and  infectious  cases." 

"Which  kind?" 

"Typhoid." 

"Why  shouldn't  I?" 

"Well,  it's  not  the  most  agreeable  thing  in  the 
world  to  ask  a  woman  to  sacrifice  her  home,  her 
linen,  and  perhaps  her  life  in  order  to  care  for 
contagious  diseases.  But  I  throw  myself  on 
your  mercy.  The  quantities  of  wounded  alone 
far  surpass  any  calculation,  and  inoculation 
against  Typhoid  was  rare  three  months  ago 

[129] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 


when  the  war  broke  out.  In  consequence  we 
are  deluged.  As  you  have  no  doubt  observed, 
every  available  corner  has  been  utilised  and 
this  is  a  hospital.  In  a  few  moments  I  will 
go  with  you  and  show  you  how  really  necessary 
it  is  that  some  one  come  to  our  assistance." 

"But,  Doctor  I  am  not  protesting,  I'm  here 
to  receive  orders." 

"Good,  how  many  beds  have  you  now?" 

"Forty-five  occupied,  we  might  be  able  to 
make  it  fifty." 

"Could  you  make  it  sixty  without  any  mate- 
rial assistance  from  us?  We  have  nothing  to 
offer  to  set  up  the  establishment." 

I  said  I  could ;  under  such  circumstances  one 
must  never  say  "I'll  try". 

I  followed  the  doctor  through  the  narrow 
hallway.  A  second  glance  at  the  vestibule  told 
me  that  not  only  was  every  bed  occupied,  but 
there  were  men  on  stretchers  in  every  corner. 
My  guide  led  the  way  down  the  hill,  and  then 
we  climbed  the  steps  of  the  Municipal  theatre, 
where  we  came  upon  the  newest  evacuated, 
perhaps  two  or  three  hundred  of  them,  reclin- 
ing on  the  straw  which  had  practically  turned 
the  place  into  a  stable. 

[130] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

"All  typhoid  cases,  Madame  Huard,  and 
doctors  are  so  scarce!  We  need  every  one 
we've  got  to  operate  on  the  wounded,  so  what 
are  these  poor  devils  to  do?  Most  of  the 
school-houses  and  public  buildings  in  this  town 
are  full  to  overflowing,  and  more  are  coming 
in  all  the  time." 

So  many  pairs  of  wistful,  yearning  eyes  were 
turned  in  my  direction — so  many  stifled  cries  of 
"Water"  "Water",  came  from  lips  that  be- 
longed to  inert  bodies  stretched  out,  without 
even  the  possibility  of  removing  their  boots! 

The  doctor  saw  I  was  touched. 

"Could  you  double  your  number  of  beds?", 
said  he,  turning  about  sharply.  "Sixty  pa- 
tients are  too  few  for  one  doctor,  considering 
the  emergency." 

A  hundred  and  twenty  typhoid  patients! 
The  space  I  possessed,  but  what  about  the  beds, 
linen  and  so  forth?  In  a  second  I  imagined 
that  perhaps  we  might  beg  such  things  in  our 
vicinity — and  experience  had  taught  me  that 
anji;hing  one  can  conceive  is  realisable. 

"Yes,  I  can  make  it  one  hundred  and  twenty 
beds,  but  I  cannot  guarantee  to  furnish  the 
necessary  help  to  run  the  establishment.    It  can 

[131] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

be  done  if  you  will  send  us  some  more  infir- 
miers." 

The  doctor  shook  his  head. 

"Impossible,  we've  not  enough  here  now." 

"I  realise  that",  said  I.  "Madame  Guix  and 
I  stand  willing  to  do  our  share,  but  if  you  take 
all  our  men  from  us  you,  best  of  anyone  know 
that  there  is  a  limit  to  human  endurance." 

"How  many  orderlies  have  you  now?" 

"Four  good  ones,  and  a  sergeant." 

"They  can  remain." 

"Surely,  but  they  hardly  suffice  for  forty, 
much  less  three  times  that  many  patients." 

The  doctor  wrinkled  his  brow. 

"Among  those  I  am  going  to  evacuate,  are 
there  any  whose  chronic  condition  will  send 
them  back  to  their  barracks  rather  than  to 
the  front?" 

"Yes,  three  or  four." 

"Then  keep  them;  use  them." 

And  holding  up  his  hand  to  prevent  my 
thanking  him — 

"No,  don't  tell  me  about  them,  I  don't  want 
to  know.  I'm  not  supposed  to  know.  I've  even 
got  to  pretend  I  don't  know.  Each  of  us  has 
got  to  do  what  he  or  she  can  do  to  help.    If  I 

[132] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

find  we  can  spare  anyone  from  here  later  on,  I 
shall  remember  you.  Evacuate  all  the  best 
to-morrow,  and  I'll  give  you  three  days  to  pre- 
pare. Expect  fifty  men  by  Saturday  noon. 
Good-bye  Madame,  you  know  how  grateful  I 
am!" 

I  walked  out  into  the  street,  fairly  dizzy 
from  what  I  had  seen — dazed  by  the  thoughts 
of  the  responsibility  I  had  just  assumed. 

The  street  was  empty.  Chou  was  not  at  his 
post.  I  shook  myself  a  trifle  and  gazed  right 
and  left.  No,  I  was  not  dreaming,  there  was 
no  one  to  be  seen. 

Perhaps  he's  had  to  wait  his  turn  and  there 
are  many  to  be  treated  before  him.  So  solilo- 
quising I  started  down  the  hill.  At  the  bottom 
I  questioned  some  one  as  to  the  whereabouts  of 
the  dentist. 

No  civilians'  dentist  left.  They  had  never 
had  occasion  to  need  the  military  specialist — 
and  like  phrases  greeted  my  various  inquiries, 
and  at  the  end  of  a  half  hour  I  was  no  wiser 
than  before. 

I  returned  to  the  Hotel  Dieu  where  a  sister 
informed  me  that  he  was  at  Barracks  A. 

I  crossed  the  city  only  to  be  sent  in  another 

[  133  ] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   EIELD    OF    MERCY 

direction,  and  finally  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
river,  in  a  little,  dingy  street,  I  came  upon  my 
horse  and  trap,  drawn  up  in  front  of  a  solemn 
building,  over  the  door  of  which  floated  the  tri- 
color. 

Without  hesitating  I  entered.  On  my  ap- 
pearance, Chou  who  was  seated  at  the  other  end 
of  the  hall,  jumped  up  and  greeted  me  as 
though  I  were  a  long  lost  parent,  fairly  shriek- 
ing; 

"I  knew  you'd  come,  I  knew  you'd  come !" 

"What's  the  trouble,  can't  you  find  a  dentist? 
Why  didn't  you  meet  me  as  I  told  you?" 

"They  wouldn't  let  me",  and  he  pointed  to  a 
sergeant  who,  a  la  Godec,  was  scribbling  labour- 
iously  on  some  neat  looking  registers. 

"Is  that  so,  sergeant?"  said  I  addressing  the 
person  in  question,  who  promptly  rose  after 
carefully  wiping  his  pen. 

"I  was  merely  explaining  to  this  chap  that 
we  have  received  word  that  your  hospital  is  to 
be  evacuated  to-morrow,  and  that  our  station 
trap  is  to  help  in  the  moving.  Now,  if  he  stays 
here  that  makes  one  less  for  the  horses  to  drag. 
I  hardly  see  the  necessity  of  his  returning." 

How  could  he?    How  was  it  possible  for  him 

[  134] 


MY    HOME   IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MEECY 

to  appreciate  Chou's  feelings  at  being  torn 
from  his  friends,  his  chateau,  without  a  parting 
word.  How  could  he  have  guessed  that  if  I  had 
been  allowed  but  one  orderly,  I  certainly  would 
have  chosen  Chou  among  all  the  rest. 

"I  see",  said  I. 

Chou's  face  fell,  his  great,  round  blue  eyes 
took  on  such  a  pathetic  expression. 

"That's  all  very  well",  I  continued,  "But  how 
am  I  going  to  explain  his  absence  to  our  doctor, 
and  how  are  you  going  to  account  for  the  miss- 
ing evacuation  ticket  that  must  be  given  to  the 
men  in  person?" 

Chou's  expression  was  a  marvel  to  behold. 
The  sergeant's  was  one  of  disgust ;  he  evidently 
didn't  care  to  have  his  authority  questioned. 
If  it  had  not  been  risking  complications,  I  fancy 
Chou  would  have  clapped  his  hands  and 
jumped  for  joy. 

"I  shall  report  this  to  my  superior  at  once." 

"Certainly,  but  mind  I  don't  do  likewise, 
and  get  you  reprimanded  for  assuming  too 
much  authority." 

The  sergeant  was  stunned.  He  looked  at  me 
from  head  to  foot  and  decided  that  argument 
might  lead  to  disturbance,  so  jerking  over  his 

[  135] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

shoulder  the  words  "Released",  he  returned  to 
his  papers.  Chou  joined  me  and  together  we 
started  homeward. 

A  long  wail  of  despair  rose  from  forty  pairs 
of  lips  when  the  announcement  of  departure 
was  made  after  dinner  that  evening.  Of  course, 
they  understood  and  accepted  the  situation, 
which  had  been  a  foregone  conclusion  for  some 
time  now. 

"Pity  I  couldn't  get  typhoid",  lamented  one. 

"If  I'd  been  born  ten  years  sooner,  I'd  be  fit 
for  the  auxiliary  service  by  now!"  declared 
some  one  else  for  the  benefit  of  Godec  and  his 
acolytes. 

I  dared  not  tell  them  that  I  had  permission 
to  keep  four.  Chou  and  Their  age,  Jeantot  and 
Dubuis  had  been  informed  of  my  intention,  but 
under  penalty  of  being  dismissed  with  the 
others,  had  been  told  to  hold  their  tongues.  In 
making  out  his  list  the  sergeant  was  to  reserve 
them  for  the  last  waggon  load  which,  of  course, 
would  never  go. 

Luncheon  next  day  was  a  dismal  meal,  and 
before  it  was  finished  we  could  hear  the  rumble 
of  the  approaching  carts.  There  was  an  extra 
cup  of  coffee  for  each  and  the  whole  repast 

[136] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEECY 

topped  off  with  a  sip  of  peach  brandy,  which 
came  in  most  appropriately. 

Adieux  were  affectionate  but  not  effeminate. 
I  procured  a  blank  book  which  I  turned  into 
a  guests'  record,  each  one  proudly  inscribing* 
his  name  and  address,  so  that  to-day  I  treasure 
it  as  one  of  my  proudest  war  souvenirs. 

"Good-bye,  good-bye!"  they  called.  ''A  la 
victoire!    Don't  forget  to  write  to  us." 

We  stood  and  waved  them  out  of  sight. 

The  next  couple  of  days  we  were  deluged 
with  affectionate  greetings  on  picture  post 
cards.  Some  wrote  letters  which  I  fondly  cher- 
ish, and  for  nearly  three  years  I  have  been  in 
constant  correspondence  with  a  dozen  or  more 
of  the  boys.  Now  and  again  a  regular  letter 
ceases  to  come.  The  fii'st  week  I  am  not 
anxious.  Then  perhaps  a  month  slips  by — still 
nothing  appears.  I  need  not  seek  the  reason, 
I  know  it  but  too  well! 

From  the  Dardanelles,  from  Monastir,  from 
Russia  as  well  as  from  the  battle  fronts  of 
Verdun  and  the  Somme  have  come  reiterations 
of  undying  appreciation.  Their  unstinted 
gratitude  has  repaid  us  a  hundred  fold  for  the 
little  we  did  for  them. 

[137] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 


Sergeant  Godee  and  his  men  returned  suc- 
cessful from  their  expedition  in  quest  of  beds 
and  bedding — but  anyone  who  had  ever  visited 
a  modern  equipped  sanitorium,  or  to  whom  the 
word  hospital  might  mean  long  rows  of  small 
white  enamelled  beds,  would  certainly  have 
laughed  if  he  could  have  seen  the  assortment 
that  fell  to  our  lot.  Most  of  them  were  wooden. 
Some  hand  carved  and  dating  from  the  eigh- 
teenth century.  The  majority  were  of  heavy 
red  mahoganjr,  and  varied  tremendously  in 
width,  so  that  our  most  careful  arrangement 
could  only  produce  an  uneven  unsatisfactory 
appearance  in  the  wards. 

Every  available  space  in  the  chateau  was 
utihsed;  the  doctor  and  the  pharmacist  agree- 
ing to  share  the  same  room,  since  they  were  all 
large,  and  partitions  few. 

On  Friday  afternoon  we  were  in  the  act  of 
counting  and  marking  sheets  when  a  telephone 
call  from  headquarters  announced  the  imme- 
diate arrival  of  forty  men;  almost  a  day  sooner 
than  we  expected. 

They  came  just  as  did  the  others,  but  when 
the  army  carts  had  halted  and  the  curtains  were 
pulled  aside,  they  remained  motionless  in  their 

[  138] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MERCY 

seats — poor  human  wrecks — unconscious  of 
time,  place  or  surroundings — so  accustomed  to 
being  jostled  and  jolted,  first  in  one  vehicle 
then  in  another,  that  they  could  hardly  believe 
that  they  had  stopped  for  good.  We  were 
obliged  to  help  them  down. 

They  came  without  knapsacks  or  guns,  which 
followed  in  an  open  rig,  and  from  the  colour  of 
the  tags  tied  to  their  buttonholes  we  knew  that 
we  had  to  do  with  severe  cases  of  typhoid, 
though  to  prevent  discouragement,  the  descrip- 
tion on  the  card  ran : — 

"Embarras  gastrique  aigu" 

Not  a  sound  from  any  mouth,  not  a  smile  on 
any  lips — the  vacant  stare  in  their  eyes  be- 
tokening their  total  submission  to  the  malady 
that  had  gripped  and  strangled  theii*  every 
effort  to  resist.    Gently  we  led  them  in. 

It  would  be  useless  to  try  to  depict  their  un- 
shaven, unkempt  condition ;  as  long  as  they  had 
a  spark  of  fight  left  they  had  remained  in  the 
trenches,  unwilling  to  complain,  living  in  hope 
of  being  "Better  to-morrow",  and,  as  is  gener- 
ally the  case,  lingering  until  medical  assistance 
could  no  longer  prevent,  but  merely  witness  the 
rapid  development  of  their  sinister  ill. 

[  139  ] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

One  or  two  amongst  them  were  chewing 
vaguely  at  the  unhghted  butts  of  cigarettes. 
A  certain  very  youthful  chap  was  staring 
wildly  at  an  orange  which  he  shifted  from 
hand  to  hand,  imcertain  what  he  should  do 
with  it,  too  tired  to  make  the  mental  effort 
necessary  to  find  out;  while  others  laying  eyes 
on  the  chairs  in  the  vestibule,  quickly  seated 
themselves,  vainly  trying  to  gather  enough 
strength  and  courage  to  "Move  on"  should 
we  so  desire. 

It  would  have  been  futile  to  attempt  medical 
examination,  or  to  let  them  even  approach  their 
beds  before  having  been  subjected  to  Chou 
and  his  partners  who  had  chosen  to  superin- 
tend the  baths — no  easy  undertaking  when  one 
considers  that  all  the  water  had  to  be  heated 
in  huge  clothes  boilers  on  the  kitchen  range,  or 
over  the  open  fire,  and  then  carried  some  hun- 
dred yards  to  the  only  bath  tub  that  had  re- 
mained intact. 

Shoes,  caps,  top-coats  and  shirts  were 
dropped  in  tiny  heaps  outside  the  bathroom 
door,  to  be  gingerly  removed  for  disinfection — 
perhaps  disposed  of  altogether.  And  then  the 
patients  were  gently  deposited  in  the  luke- 

[  140] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 


warm,  disinfected  water,  without  removing 
another  stitch.  Those  who  find  these  details 
too  disgusting,  pray  jump  to  the  end  of  the 
paragraph,  but  now  that  war  has  become  a 
Metier,  and  organization  and  efficiency  are  no 
longer  vain  words,  it  seems  unfair  to  those  who 
willingly  laboured  against  such  tremendous 
odds,  not  to  state  exactly  the  situations  with 
which  they  had  to  cope.  Here  were  men  come 
to  us  in  Xovember  with  typhoid  already  de- 
veloped to  its  worst  stages,  and  before  we  could 
even  take  their  temperature  it  was  necessary  to 
remove  with  pincers  the  underclothing  they  had 
put  on  before  the  battle  of  the  Marne ! 

Night  closed  in,  and  the  dinner  hour  came 
and  passed  unheralded,  unheeded,  before  the 
four  wards  containing  ten  patients  each,  were 
carefully  inspected  and  their  numerous  treat- 
ments methodically  noted  by  the  sergeant.  In 
most  cases  the  men  were  so  weak  that  they  had 
to  be  raised  up  and  propped  during  the  exami- 
nations, and  when  finally  we  found  ourselves 
alone  in  the  vestibule,  Godec  could  not  help 
exclaiming — " 

"What  a  difference  from  day  before  yester- 
day!" 

[  141  ] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

What  a  difference  indeed ! 

It  did  not  take  us  long  to  find  out  what  real 
hospital  work  meant.  The  forty  men  to  whom 
we  had  wished  such  cheerful  '^'Bon  voyage" 
two  days  since,  had  been  as  forty  guests  at  a 
house  party.  Now  we  had  real  patients,  incap- 
able of  the  slightest  effort,  to  whom  we  had  to 
be  everything,  for  whom  everything  had  to 
be  done. 

During  the  first  nights  at  least  it  was  decided 
that  scrupulous  watch  be  kept,  and  the  pharma- 
cist and  one  orderly  assumed  the  guard  of  the 
two  upstairs  wards,  while  to  "La  petite  ja- 
quette"  and  myself  fell  the  vigil  of  the  draw- 
ing-room and  the  library.  Madame  Guix  and 
the  doctor  would  alternate  with  us  so  that  none 
should  have  two  consecutive  nights  without 
sleep. 

At  ten  o'clock  when  I  took  my  post,  almost 
all  the  men  had  fallen  into  that  heavy,  unrest- 
ful  slumber  that  betrays  utter  exhaustion.  For 
the  sake  of  economy,  as  well  as  for  their  com- 
fort, the  room  was  lighted  only  by  a  small 
veilleuse — or  night  lamp,  and  the  glare  of  a 
crackling  grate  fire,  our  only  means  of  heating. 
Our  supply  of  wood  for  the  night  evenly  sawed 

[142] 


'z^S     l 


'•^^ 


4s.^-^*3pS 


VIEW    OF    SOISSONS    FROM    THE 
PONT    DE    VILLENEUVE 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

and  carefully  stacked  on  either  side  of  the 
chimney,  looked  most  formidable. 

The  drawing-room  and  the  library  com- 
municate by  two  large  double  doors,  which 
when  thrown  open  made  it  quite  possible  to 
hear  everything  that  was  going  on  in  either 
room.  From  sheer  force  of  habit  I  elected 
place  m  the  former,  and  went  to  work  putting 
my  table  in  order,  arranging  the  medicine 
glasses,  and  carefully  noting  the  exact  hour  at 
which  the  first  dose  was  to  be  given.  "La  petite 
jaquette"  after  arranging  the  coals  and  having 
made  a  round  to  assure  himself  that  all  was 
well,  took  place  opposite  me  on  the  hearth, 
snuggled  down  in  his  chair  and  in  less  than  no 
time  had  dozed  off. 

Presently  the  only  sound  in  the  room  was  the 
ticking  of  an  alarm  clock  on  the  mantle,  the 
embers  falling  in  the  hearth  and  the  heavy, 
uneven  breathing  of  forty  sleeping  men. 

"Water,  water",  faintly  called  a  thin  rasping 
voice  at  one  end  of  the  ward. 

I  complied  with  the  request,  and  in  spite  of 
my  every  effort  to  be  as  quiet  as  possible,  the 
man  in  the  next  bed  stirred,  rolled  over,  and 
said  "I,  too". 

[  143  ] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MERCY 

I  raised  them  and  held  the  ref  resiling  liquid  to 
their  lips,  and  as  soon  as  they  had  drunk  they 
fell  over  as  though  lifeless,  on  their  pillows. 

On  the  way  back  to  my  table  to  replenish  my 
glasses,  one  lad  sat  bolt  upright  and  in  imper- 
ative tone  demanded  that  his  thirst  be 
quenched. 

"Water,  I  say,  give  me  water!" 

In  a  few  moments  silence  again  reigned  save 
for  a  long,  low  groan,  an  incomprehensive  mur- 
mur, which  soon  died  away. 

The  unexpected  roar  of  a  heavy  gun,  which 
seemed  to  be  much  nearer  than  ever  before,  sur- 
prised me  somewhat,  and  aroused  "La  petite 
jaquette",  who  rubbed  his  eyes  and  stared 
about  him  in  an  uncertain  fashion. 

''Pauline,  Pauline'^  wailed  a  high  pitched 
voice  in  the  other  room — ''Pauline,  ma  petite 
Pauline" — 

"Water — water — quick — I  'm  suffocating. ' ' 

"I  believe  one  of  them  is  talking  in  his  sleep", 
volunteered  my  companion,  rising  in  the  semi- 
darkness  to  take  up  his  duties  in  the  adjoining 
ward. 

Time  slipped  by  rapidly,  so  busy  was  I  at- 
tending to  the  various  wants.    Suddenly  I  was 

[  144] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 


alarmed  by  a  sharp  cry  and  a  crashing  sound 
behind  me,  followed  by  an  indignant  oath.  I 
made  a  dash  in  the  direction  from  which  the 
noise  came  and  arrived  on  the  door  sill  to  see 
"La  petite  jaquette"  standing  staring  at  the 
floor,  while  in  every  bed  a  shaggy  haired  indi- 
vidual was  sitting  up  looking  wildly  about  him. 

"That's  the  first,  boys",  called  one — "Look 
out  for  the  second !  There  it  comes.  Can't  you 
see  it?  Quick,  to  the  right  I  say!  Run,  run! 
Where's  my  canteen  ?  Who  took  it  ?  My  can- 
teen, give  it  back  to  me,  I  tell  you." 

"What  started  this",  I  asked  of  "La  petite 
jaquette".  "That  noise,  that  crash  a  moment 
ago,  what  were  they?" 

I  was  obliged  to  talk  out  loud  to  make  him 
hear,  the  delirious  men  were  carrying  on  so. 

"Only  a  glass  that  slipped  out  of  a  fellow's 
hand  onto  the  floor.    He  insisted  on  taking  it." 

Quickly  we  passed  from  bed  to  bed,  smooth- 
ing a  brow,  patting  a  hand,  gently  persuading 
them  to  regain  the  reclining  position.  Some 
resisted  a  bit,  while  others  literally  snapped 
back  on  to  their  places  like  puppets  on  a  wire. 

This  ordeal  over,  we  returned  to  our  places 
by  the  fire. 

[145] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

"Pauline,  Pauline" — murmured  in  low 
agonizing  tones,  the  same  tenor  voice.  We  had 
become  accustomed  to  it  now. 

A  wild  shriek  of  coarse  laughter  rent  the  air 
and  brought  me  to  my  feet  with  a  bound. 

"Ha,  ha,  ha,  that's  good!  Now  then  boys, 
we're  off!  En  avant,  en  avant — Vive  la 
France — oh,  ohT  Then  lapsing  into  a  sort  of 
hiccough,  "Mama,  Mama;  Mama,  don't  you 
hear  me?"  it  sobbed. 

"Water,  O  God  how  thirsty  I  am!" 

Again  I  began  my  rounds,  and  having  fin- 
ished I  was  obliged  to  replace  the  tiny  wick  in 
the  night  lamp  which  had  flickered  and  gone 
out.  As  I  turned  to  the  table  for  a  match,  I 
was  startled  almost  to  screaming  by  the  sight  of 
a  tall,  gaunt  figure  draped  in  white,  standing 
close  beside  me,  his  finger  raised  to  his  lips, 
enjoining  me  to  silence.  In  all  my  life  I  had 
never  seen  anything  that  so  resembled  a  ghost 
or  a  vision.  The  fire  dancing  in  the  grate  gave 
out  a  queer,  lugubrious  light,  which  augmented 
the  pallor  of  the  face  and  gave  a  supernatural 
look  to  a  pair  of  glassy  blue  eyes  that  were 
staring  into  vacancy. 

It  took  me  a  good  quarter  minute  to  pull  my- 

[146] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

self  together,  steady  my  trembling  hand,  and 
light  the  match.    The  figure  did  not  move. 

"Madame",  hissed  "La  petite  jaquette"  in  a 
forced  whisper,  peering  into  the  room,  "One  of 
them's  gone".  He  halted  a  second  when  he 
caught  sight  of  the  great,  lanky  black  haired 
man,  who  did  not  move  at  his  approach. 

"Oh,  so  there  you  are",  exclaimed  my  aid  in 
normal  tones  w^hich  brought  me  to  myself. 

"Now  then,  right  about,  face — forward, 
march!",  he  continued.  "No  sleep  walking  al- 
lowed here.    Into  bed  you  go." 

I  wiped  the  perspiration  from  my  forehead 
and  leaned  against  the  table  for  support. 

But  there  was  no  respite.  The  same  plaint- 
ive voice  went  right  on  calling  that  same 
woman's  name!  Some  one  tried  to  sing  a 
French  version  of  "Tipperary",  and  in  the 
midst  of  it  all  would  come  strident  cries  of  "^At- 
tention! Bayonnettes  ficces!  No!  No!  No 
camarade!    Sale  Boche — '' 

Almost  all  degenerated  into  troubled  groan- 
ings  and  moanings. 

A  strange  scuffling  sound,  mingled  with 
curses  and  an  indefinable  ejaculation,  sent  me 
quickly  towards  a  bed  on  which  was  wi'ithing 

[147] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MEECY 

and  wriggling  a  patient  I  had  left  calm  but  a 
ten  seconds  since. 

"No,  you  can't  have  me,  you  dirty  German 
no!  Gad,  no."  And  the  bed  clothing  which 
had  hampered  his  movements  suddenly  giving 
way,  he  fell  with  a  dull  thud  on  the  floor  at  my 
feet. 

"He's  charging — hand  to  hand,  living  it  all 
over  again",  whispered  "La  petite  jaquette",  as 
we  picked  up  the  unconscious  mass  and  laid 
him  gently  on  his  cot. 

I  returned  to  my  table  and  looked  at  my 
watch.  A  quarter  of  two.  Three  hours  more 
at  least  before  dawn.  My  companion  was 
kneeling  on  the  hearth,  setting  some  water  to 
boil.  The  agonizing,  heart-rending,  soul 
wracking  cries  had  redoubled.  As  though  to 
drown  their  agony,  the  great  guns  boomed 
louder  and  louder.  My  eyes  wandered  to  the 
window.  Only  darkness  outside.  At  the  same 
time,  and  without  turning  my  head,  I  stretched 
out  my  hand  to  grasp  the  back  of  my  chair, 
snatching  it  away  instantly,  my  very  heart 
ceasing  to  beat  from  terror.  I  had  touched 
something  warm  and  clammy. 

''Jesus'',    shrieked    "La    petite    jaquette", 

[  148] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

scrambling  to  his  feet  in  such  haste  that  he 
overturned  the  kettle  on  the  fire,  and  a  sizzling 
sound  accompanied  by  a  puff  of  smoke,  quickly 
filled  the  room. 

"Lord,  how  he  frightened  me",  gasped  the 
injirmier,  and  at  that  moment  I  looked  up  and 
beheld  the  same  white  di-aped  figure  standing 
between  us  like  a  statue.  It  was  his  hand  I 
had  touched  a  second  since. 

My  teeth  were  fairly  chattering  from  fright. 
I  mopped  my  face,  gi-ound  my  teeth,  and  tried 
my  best  to  control  myself.  Our  ghost  was  no 
sooner  put  to  bed  than  we  could  hear  his  bare 
feet  walking  on  the  hardwood  floor. 

"He  frightens  me",  blubbered  my  little 
helper.  "There's  something  uncanny  about 
him!    Oh,  there  he  comes  again." 

This  was  more  than  I  could  stand.  Like  a 
thunderbolt  the  sensation  of  my  loneliness,  my 
utter  isolation  from  anything  familiar,  burst  on 
me,  enveloped  me.  I  was  afraid.  The  room 
seemed  suddenly  to  have  become  very  warm 
and  stifling,  everything  whirred  in  front  of  me. 
Air,  air,  I  thought  as  I  hurried  toward  the 
door  leading  into  the  vestibule. 

I  turned  the  knob,  took  a  step  forward.    My 

[  149] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

feet  encountered  something  that  resisted.  I 
was  conscious  enough  to  know  that  whatever 
was  there  was  moving,  ahve!  The  cold  air 
rushed  in  upon  me — gave  me  strength  enough 
to  react — a  second  later,  a  long,  thin  tongue 
was  licking  my  hand. 

Tiger ! 

Tears  of  joy  rushed  to  my  eyes  and  rolled 
unheeded  down  my  cheeks  as  I  gathered  my 
faithful  greyhound  into  my  arms.  My  empty 
bed,  no  night  lamp  in  my  room,  had  told  him 
something  was  amiss.  He  seemed  to  feel  I 
needed  a  friend,  and  he  had  come. 

It  was  all  over  in  a  moment.  My  brain 
cleared  up,  and  I  hurried  back  into  the  room, 
ashamed  of  my  puerility,  mortified  at  having 
abandoned  my  post  and  my  companion, 
anxious  to  find  out  whether  or  not  my  absence 
had  been  perceived.  What  had  seemed  hours 
to  me,  must  have  been  a  very  brief  space  of  time 
for  "La  petite  jaquette"  was  stirring  up  the 
fire  exactly  as  though  nothing  had  happened. 
With  joy  in  my  heart  I  leaned  down  and  patted 
Tiger,  confident  that  he  would  never  tell. 

Such  was  my  real  initiation  to  the  career  of 

[  150] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF   MEECY 

military  trained  nurse.  I  fancy  he  who  re- 
ceives the  baptism  of  fire  must  undergo  some- 
thing of  the  same  sensation,  and  I  wonder 
sometimes  if  it  were  not  easier  for  the  soldier, 
for  seldom  or  never  under  such  circumstances 
does  he  find  himself  alone. 

I  slept  late  into  the  morning.  When  I  came 
downstairs  two  more  waggon  loads  of  the  same 
dilapidated  looking  soldiers  had  been  disem- 
barked and  were  patiently  waiting  in  the  vesti- 
bule their  turn  to  be  made  clean. 

While  sipping  my  tea,  Yvonne  announced 
that  Father  Poupard  was  in  the  kitchen  and 
had  asked  to  see  me  in  private. 

"He  won't  tell  any  of  us  what  it's  about. 
He's  been  over  here  asking  for  Madame  three 
times  since  seven  o'clock  this  morning." 

"Show  him  into  my  office." 

The  old  man  rose  and  jerked  his  cap  from 
his  head  when  I  entered. 

"Good  morning,  JMadame." 

"Good  morning.  Father  Poupard.  In  what 
way  can  I  be  of  service  to  you?" 

Pere  Poupard  fumbled  with  his  cap,  evi- 
dently embarrassed,  searching  for  words  with 
which  to  begin. 

[151] 


MY   HOME   IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

"Madame  Huard",  he  blurted  out  at  last. 
"Perhaps  you'll  be  hard  with  me,  but  I  hope 
you  won't.  But  I've  been  watching  pretty 
closely  what's  going  on  over  here  at  the  cha- 
teau, and  though  nobody  says  anything  it 
strikes  me  there's  a  good  deal  of  contagious 
disease  in  the  air.  Now,  it  isn't  right  for  you 
not  to  be  protected,  so  I've  brought  you  over 
a  bottle  of  my  hoine-brew  disinfectant." 

Here  he  fumbled  for  the  buttons  of  his  waist- 
coat, and  produced  from  beneath  his  outer 
shirt,  a  dust  covered  bottle  of  brandy. 

"With  that  I  saved  everybody  in  the  village 
during  the  cholera  siege  in  '85.  Just  ask  any- 
one, they'll  tell  you  whether  or  not  I'm  speak- 
ing the  truth.  Thanks  to  this  there  wasn't  a 
single  death  in  the  place.  Would  you  do  me 
the  honor  of  accepting  this  bottle?" 

I  smiled  an  assent.    How  could  I  refuse? 

"Half  a  glass  in  the  morning  before  break- 
fast", he  continued.  "A  drop  or  two  before 
and  after  each  meal — and  just  before  going  to 
bed — and  I'll  guarantee  you'll  be  fit  as  a 
fiddle." 


[152] 


VI 

It  was  not  many  days  before  every  bed  in 
hospital  Number  seven  was  occupied,  the 
chateau  filled  to  capacity.  With  three  times  as 
many  patients  as  before,  and  the  staff  remain- 
ing the  same  it  was  necessary  to  put  the  great- 
est efficiency  into  the  regulating  of  all  service, 
no  matter  how  trifling. 

To  begin  with,  each  one  was  allotted  his  spe- 
cial task,  and  from  the  doctor  down  to  the 
kitchen  maid,  regular  hours  for  performing 
regular  duties  were  established.  Under  no  cir- 
cimistances  was  anyone  to  overwork  one  day 
just  because  he  didn't  feel  tired,  and  in  con- 
sequence be  laid  up  next  day.  We  could  not 
afford  it. 

In  due  time  our  patients  were  classified  ac- 
cording to  their  degree  of  illness.  There  were 
light  cases,  cases  where  the  malady  was  still  in 
the  stage  of  development,  and  there  were 
severe  cases.  Not  that  typhoid  at  all  times  is 
not  a  serious  proposition,  but  by  severe  cases, 
I  mean  actually  alarming.  There  were  eigh- 
teen or  twenty  of  the  latter,  and  for  conven- 

[153] 


MY    HOME   IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

ience  sake  they  were  kept  in  the  downstairs 
wards.  It  goes  without  saying,  that  it  was  here 
Madame  Guix  and  I  spent  the  greater  part  of 
our  time.  Upstairs  it  was  merely  a  question  of 
giving  a  spoonful  of  medicine  at  a  stipulated 
time — and  Mademoiselle  Alice  Foerter  was 
quite  capable  of  superintending  such  matters. 

I  had  never  taken  care  of  contagious  disease 
before,  in  fact  apart  from  certain  elementary 
rules  of  hygiene  born  in  the  Anglo  Saxon,  I 
had  no  training  save  the  little  Madame  Guix 
offered  in  the  few  days  that  preceded  our 
evacuation  before  the  enemy,  and  what  dire 
necessity  had  taught  me  when  on  the  highroad. 
I  am,  therefore,  no  judge  of  the  methods  we 
employed  in  our  treatment.  The  results  ob- 
tained were  phenomenal.  This  then  speaks  for 
their  efficacy. 

It  must  also  be  taken  into  consideration  that 
we  had  at  our  disposal  but  the  contents  of  two 
pharmaceutical  kits;  that  headquarters  could 
send  us  little  or  nothing;  that  certain  conven- 
iences, such  as  agreeable  disinfectants,  were  al- 
most totally  lacking.  For  personal  use  we  had 
Javel  water,  and  considered  ourselves  lucky; 
for  soaking  all  our  sheets,  pillow  cases,  hand- 

[154] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MEKCY 

kerchiefs  and  underwear  before  giving  them 
out  to  be  washed,  we  had  a  solution  of  iron  per- 
chloride.    That  was  all. 

It  was  the  question  of  linen  that  became  an 
almost  continual  source  of  annoyance.  From 
the  peasants  in  the  entire  outlying  vicinity  we 
had  managed  to  beg  or  borrow  two  hundred 
and  fifty  pairs  of  sheets.  Calculating  thus, 
each  bed  had  its  pair,  a  pair  for  change,  and 
then  little  or  nothing  was  left  in  reserve.  This 
would  not  have  been  so  bad  if  we  had  had  a 
fully  equipped  drying  room,  but  we  hadn't. 
Everything  was  hung  out  of  doors,  and  at  this 
season  of  the  year  in  the  North  Eastern  part  of 
France,  it  is  not  unusual  to  have  rain  every  day. 
Besides,  what  is  one  extra  pair  of  sheets  in  a 
mahgnant  typhoid  ward?  With  despair  in  our 
hearts  we  used  to  watch  the  mist  rise  very  early 
in  the  afternoon,  or  observe  the  weather-cock 
gradually  turning  to  "Unsettled".  Practic- 
ally all  our  outdoor  exercise  consisted  in  a  hur- 
ried visit  to  the  drying  paddock,  and  he  who 
returned  with  some  article  whose  moist  state 
could  be  terminated  comfortably  before  an 
open  fire,  was  lauded  to  the  skies.  Why  didn't 
we  use  our  numerous  empty  stables?    For  the 

[155] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEKCY 

good  reason  that  open  air  was  far  better  than 
damp  interiors.  My  stock  of  coal  was  fast 
diminishing ;  even  the  dry  wood  in  the  big  shed 
was  beginning  to  dwindle,  and  green  wood  only 
produced  smoke — not  heat !    We  tried  it. 

But  to  return  to  our  patients ;  few,  if  any,  of 
the  twenty  men  in  the  downstairs  wards  had  the 
slightest  notion  where  they  were.  Delirium, 
which  commenced  almost  immediately  they  fell 
asleep,  was  constant  and  continued  for  several 
weeks.  To  their  appeals  for  water  we  replied 
promptly  at  all  times,  but  never  gave  it  pure, 
always  one  third  red  wine.  Besides  the  wine 
four  drops  tincture  of  iodine  diluted  in  water 
and  taken  internally  as  disinfectant,  the  "Po- 
tion de  Todd",  which  I  fancy  contained  some 
spirituous  stimulant,  figured  very  largely  in 
our  treatment.  In  cases  where  the  heart  weak- 
ened, hypodermic  injections  of  camphorated 
oil  were  administered  frequently. 

The  most  important  feature  of  our  regime, 
however,  was  the  baths.  We  were  fortunate  in 
having  spring  water  piped  into  the  house,  and 
certain  cases  demanded  that  cloths  wrung  out 
in  the  icy  liquid,  be  placed  at  regular  intervals 
on  the  abdomen:  other  patients  had  to  be  en- 

[156] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

tirely  enveloped  in  cold,  damp  sheets;  while 
still  others  were  placed  in  a  bath-tub  and  kept 
there  until  a  shiver  was  visible  on  the  skin. 

The  cloths  and  the  sheets  were  an  easy  task, 
but  it  takes  more  than  two  women  to  lift  the 
average  man  from  a  reclining  posture,  even 
when  he  is  willing — and  certainly  two  nurses 
and  two  orderlies  were  none  too  many  to  care- 
fully transport  ten,  and  sometimes  fifteen,  limp 
bodies  three  times  a  day  from  bed  to  bath,  from 
bath  to  bed.  There  are  other  and  simpler 
means,  I  know,  but  they  were  not  at  our  dis- 
posal. We  did  as  we  were  ordered  and  with 
what  we  had.  This  rapidly  developed  me  a 
strong  pair  of  biceps,  but  I  have  serious  doubts 
as  to  its  benefit  for  chronic  appendicitis.  My 
how  my  back  ached  the  first  few  days ! 

Naturally,  other  and  graver  complications 
developed;  things  that  I  am  not  at  liberty  to 
discourse  upon  here,  but  of  such  alarming 
nature  that  one  morning  after  his  visit,  the 
doctor  on  leaving  our  last  ward,  shook  his  head 
in  a  desultory  fashion. 

"Better  tell  the  sergeant  to  look  up  the  ad- 
dresses of  their  relatives  in  their  military 
books." 

[157] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

"Is  it  as  bad  as  that?" 

"Yes." 

"Must  the  sergeant  do  it?" 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  I  should  hate  to  receive  the  kind 
of  letter  he  is  capable  of  writing!" 

"I'm  afraid  you're  sentimental,  Madame. 
This  is  war  you  know." 

"Surely,  but  is  there  any  objection  to  one  of 
us  doing  it  if  we  can  find  the  time?" 

"Not  the  slightest,  so  long  as  it  is  done  rap- 
idly. I  dislike  telegraphing,  it  frightens  people 
so." 

"Then  what  exactly  must  I  say?" 

"Tell  them  that  soldier  so  and  so  is  under 
treatment  at  this  hospital.  That  should  they 
feel  inclined  to  make  him  a  visit,  we  urge  it  to 
be  done  at  once,  and  to  use  this  letter  as  a  pass- 
port to  enter  the  army  zone.  Heaven  knows 
by  what  means  they  will  reach  here.  It  seems 
only  fair  though  to  give  them  a  chance  to 
try." 

As  I  walked  down  the  hall  I  heard  the  phar- 
macist give  an  order  to  have  our  round  tower 
near  the  moat  entirely  cleaned  out,  and  the 
downstairs  room  carefully  white-washed. 

[  158'] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MERCY 

"We'll  use  it  for  a  mortuary  chamber,"  was 
his  last  somewhat  indifferent  remark. 

My  blood  ran  cold.  To  pass  away  on  the 
"Field  of  Honor"  with  the  din  of  battle,  and 
the  cries  of  victory  ringing  in  one's  ears,  that 
was  glorious!  But  to  slowly  flicker  out  from 
illness  in  a  God-forsaken  emergency  nospital; 
that  was  ghastly. 

It  should  not  be!  We  would  redouble  our 
efforts,  strain  every  nerve  to  help  the  men 
fight  for  their  lives  by  which  they  seemed  to 
set  so  little  store.    They  were  too  tired. 

Madame  Guix  and  I  wrote  eight  letters  as 
directed.  There  should  have  been  nine,  but  on 
looking  into  his  mihtary  book  we  found  that 
one  poor  little  chap,  a  volunteer  because  of  his 
youth,  had  no  parents,  no  near  relative.  Only 
his  boarding-house  keeper.  We  would  wait 
until  the  crisis  was  over  before  communicating 
with  her. 

We  hardly  hoped  for  replies.  I  was  there- 
fore much  astonished  when  three  days  later,  a 
tall,  fine  looking  woman  dressed  in  black  was 
ushered  into  my  office.    I  held  out  my  hand. 

"I  am  Madame  Godefroid.  Martin  Navez 
is  my  brother",  said  she  looking  fearlessly  into 

[159] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEKCY 

my  eyes.  "You  wrote  me  to  come.  Am  I  too 
late?  Do  not  be  afraid  to  tell  me  the  truth.  I 
am  strong." 

What  a  blessing  to  be  able  to  say  he  was  still 
alive,  though,  of  course,  far  from  being  out  of 
danger. 

Madame  Godefroid  gulped  a  sob,  and  two 
bright  tears  of  joy  trickled  unheeded  down  her 
cheeks.  "Thank  God!",  she  said.  "It  is  almost 
too  good  to  believe.  Tragedies  in  our  family 
have  been  so  frequent  since  August,  I  was  pre- 
pared for  the  worst.  Poor  brother,  he's  all  I've 
got  left." 

"Had  you  other  relatives  in  the  war?" 

"Yes,  four  brothers." 

I  did  not  have  to  ask  the  next  question,  the 
woman's  expression  told  me  that  they  had  made 
the  Supreme  Sacrifice. 

"Martin  is  the  oldest.  They  all  did  well  but 
myself.  He  was  a  rich  farmer.  I,  unfortu- 
nately, am  only  housekeeper  for  the  Curate  of 
Nogent-sur-Marne.  That's  not  far  from 
Paris.  Monsieur  le  Cure  got  me  a  passport.  I 
came  in  a  cattle  car." 

"You're  not  afraid  of  typhoid?" 

She  shook  her  head — "No  indeed". 

[  160] 


MY   HOME   IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

"Would  you  care  to  go  into  the  ward  and  see 
your  brother  ?  I  fear  he  will  not  recognise  you 
to-day.  Perhaps  you  can  come  again.  Will 
you  stay  and  have  luncheon  with  us  ?  I  apolo- 
gise in  advance  for  its  simplicity,  but  such  as  it 
is  you  are  very  welcome." 

Madame  Godefroid  accepted,  and  then  dis- 
appeared accompanied  by  Madame  Guix. 

When  we  had  finished  luncheon,  and  the 
others  had  left  us,  I  detained  her  a  moment  over 
our  coffee  cups.  It  was  a  treat  to  come  in  con- 
tact with  such  a  simple,  well-bred,  kindly  soul. 
Interest  in  a  common  cause,  mutual  apprehen- 
sions, quickly  created  an  intimacy,  and  from 
her  I  learned  that  at  the  outbreak  of  the  war, 
Navez  and  his  four  brothers,  all  wealthy  far- 
mers, were  living  comfortably  in  the  suburbs  of 
Charleville.  Four  of  them  went  to  the  front 
at  once.  Navez  being  fifty,  was  not  called, 
but  his  only  son,  a  lad  of  eighteen,  enlisted  al- 
most immediately.  Brought  up  during  the  war 
of  1870  with  a  keen  hatred  of  the  Hun,  Navez 
could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  join  the 
colors,  so,  leaving  a  wife  and  two  daughters  he 
took  service  in  the  motor  transports  and  had 
seen  a  hard  campaign. 

[161] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

Overworked,  underfed,  mentally  tormented 
by  fears  for  his  family,  bowed  with  grief  at  the 
loss  of  his  brothers,  he  was  a  fit  subject  to  fall 
victim  to  the  typhoid  scourge. 

"But",  pursued  his  sister,  without  the  slight- 
est trace  of  bitterness  in  her  voice,  "Perhaps 
he'll  be  sorry  the  Lord  let  him  live  when  he 
knows." 

"Knows  what?" 

The  woman  looked  straight  into  the  fire. 

"Knows  that  since  he  left  the  front  his  son 
has  been  made  prisoner,  and  that  a  German 
shell  not  only  destroyed  his  home,  but  killed  his 
wife  and  both  daughters ;  I  am  a  poor  woman, 
I  am  all  that  he  has  left !" 

A  gentle  knocking  at  the  door  broke  the 
tense  silence  which  followed  Madame  Gode- 
froid's  last  words.  At  my  summons  Yvonne 
entered  and  said  that  a  woman  with  a  little 
girl  awaited  .3.  My  visitor  looked  up  and 
smiled. 

"Don't  let  me  detain  you,  Madame.  I  wish 
I  might  stay  and  make  myself  useful,  but  it  is 
impossible.    I  will  come  again  if  I  may". 

"Surely,  pray  do  not  worry  too  much.  I 
fancy  the  crisis  is  over." 

[162] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MEKCY 

Against  my  will,  she  caught  my  hand  and 
kissed  it. 

Quite  another  sort  of  person  had  been  shown 
into  the  office.  I  no  sooner  opened  the  door 
than  a  woman  whose  pent  up  emotions  could  no 
longer  stand  the  strain,  burst  into  tears,  and 
sobbed,  "Pierrot,  my  husband,  my  dear  Pierrot, 
he  was  so  good  to  me.  Oh,  oh,  oh!"  The  little 
blonde  headed  child  that  clung  to  her  skirts, 
seeing  her  mother's  distress,  suddenly  hid  her 
head  and  wailed — "Papa,  my  papa!" 

The  whole  thing  was  most  distressing,  most 
annoying.  The  woman,  who  belonged  to  the 
well-to-do  working  class,  couldn't  even  pull 
herself  together  sufficiently  to  tell  me  her  name 
and  from  whence  she  had  come.  I  saw  the 
moment  when  I  should  have  to  become  severe. 

"Forgive  me",  she  sobbed.  "Forgive  me, 
Madame.    It's  too  dreadful." 

"But  if  you  would  only  tell  me  the  name  of 
the  patient  you  have  come  to  see." 

"Parent,  Pierre  Parent,  my  husband.  Oh, 
poor,  poor  Pierrot",  she  hiccoughed.  "Forgive 
me,  Madame,  I  cannot  help  it." 

I  glanced  at  the  list  of  names  which  the 
sergeant  had  placed  on  my  desk.     Alongside 

[163] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MERCY 

each  name  was  a  note  stating  the  degree  of 
illness. 

Parent — Pierre  Parent.  I  found  it.  Think- 
ing it  was  useless  to  be  otherwise  than  frank, 
"Yes",  said  I,  "He  is  here.  Very  ill  but  not 
despaired  of.  We  have  every  hope  of  saving 
him." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Madame,  for  those  kind 
words."    And  her  tears  flowed  afresh. 

"But,  calm  yourself,  do,  since  you  have  come 
for  his  sake,  you  mustn't  let  him  see  your  face 
all  swollen.  It  will  only  worry  him  and  we  can- 
not allow  that." 

"Yes,  that's  it,  I  mustn't  cry",  and  she  wiped 
her  face  and  the  baby  girl's,  all  in  the  same 
breath  and  with  the  same  handkerchief. 

"I  brought  Suzanne  with  me.  She's  our 
only  child.  I  wanted  her  to  see  her  papa  again, 
perhaps  it'll  be  the  last  time.  He  loved  her 
so!"  And  in  spite  of  every  effort  the  tears 
flowed  anew. 

"I  wouldn't  take  such  a  tragic  view  of  the 
case",  I  urged.  "While  there  is  life,  there  is 
hope.  And  we  will  do  everything  in  our  power 
to  save  him.  Now  go  and  wash  your  face  and 
come  back  again." 

[  164] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

In  a  few  moments  she  reappeared,  a  sight  to 
behold,  for  in  spite  of  the  cold  water  her  face 
was  all  puffed  up,  and  in  the  hope  of  hiding  it 
she  had  added  a  thick  layer  of  white  powder. 
At  the  sight  of  the  long  clean  linen  robe  I 
offered  her,  and  which,  for  safety's  sake,  must 
be  abandoned  before  leaving  the  sick  room — 
there  was  a  new  deluge — and  if  her  anxiety  had 
not  been  so  intense,  I  should  have  been  surely 
tempted  to  smile.  The  tears  rolled  down  her 
cheeks,  leaving  great  furrows  behind  them. 

I  rang  for  an  orderly,  and  told  him  to  con- 
duct my  guests  to  Madame  Guix  who  was  then 
on  duty.  In  less  than  two  minutes  my  nurse 
returned,  saying  that  it  would  be  impossible  to 
admit  the  child  to  a  ward  where  there  were 
twenty  typhoid  patients. 

I  had  never  given  the  matter  a  thought. 
How  stupid  of  me ! 

"Pierrot,  poor  Pierrot,  it  would  do  him  so 
much  good.  Forgive  me,  Madame, — poor  Su- 
zanne"— and  then  followed  an  argument  in 
which  I  came  out  ahead  only  because  I  en- 
trenched myself  behind  "The  doctor's  orders". 
It  was  so  hard  to  seem  relentless. 

The  visit  over,  Madame  Parent  felt  much 

[  165] 


MY    HOME   IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

relieved.  She  said  her  husband  had  recognised 
her.  While  she  was  preparing  to  take  her  leave 
we  discovered  that  by  the  way  she  had  come, 
there  was  no  return  train  that  night,  and  I 
couldn't  bear  to  think  of  her  riding  fifteen  miles 
in  a  cart  only  to  sit  up  all  night  in  a  little  lonely 
way-station.  But  she  didn't  seem  in  the  least 
to  dread  it.  She  was  calmer  now  and  so 
ashamed  of  having  lost  control  of  herself. 
Fearing,  however,  that  the  frail  little  girl  might 
not  be  able  to  stand  the  strain,  I  sought  a  means 
of  detaining  them  until  morning.  Nini  and 
Yvonne  needed  no  begging  to  "Double  up" 
and  offer  one  single  bed  to  Madame  Parent  and 
her  daughter,  who  couldn't  find  words  enough 
to  express  their  gratitude. 

It  was  a  different  woman  who  greeted  us  the 
next  morning.  Two  nights  and  a  day  in  a 
third-class  compartment  together  with  the 
agonizing  moral  suspense  had  completely  un- 
nerved this  plucky  little  person,  who  was  so 
embarrassed  at  her  unseeming  behaviour  that 
she  blushed  scarlet  while  trying  to  explain  it 
to  herself  and  me. 

"We  were  so  happy,  Pierre  and  I,  before  the 
war  came.    He  and  my  brother  were  associated 

[  166] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 


in  business.  We  are  packers  and  shippers  at 
Le  Mans.  I  have  tried  to  keep  things  up,  my 
father  and  an  old  workman  have  done  what 
they  could  to  help  me,  but  it  is  quite  a  load. 
Then  Jean  was  killed  at  the  Marne  and  the 
burden  grew  doubly  hea\y,  and  when  I  got 
your  letter  I  imagined  Pierre  was  dead,  and 
you  didn't  want  to  tell  me.  But  that's  all  over 
now,  he  smiled  at  me.  I  told  him  not  to  worry, 
only  to  get  well  quick,  and  when  he  gets  back 
he'll  find  that  things  have  gone  on  just  the 
same.  They  must,  Madame,  no  matter  what 
happens,  else  who  is  to  look  after  the  babies  if 
the  women  don't  do  their  part?" 

Simple,  heroic  words,  so  often  repeated  that 
they  no  longer  seemed  extraordinary.  But  it 
is  such  women  as  this  that  have  made  France 
what  she  is! 

The  days  succeeding  these  two  visits  were 
filled  with  tense  anxiety.  Five  or  six  of  our 
patients,  among  them  Navez  and  Parent  suc- 
cessfully passed  the  much  dreaded  crisis.  The 
condition  of  most  of  the  others  remained  sta- 
tionary, but  three  or  four  took  a  decided  turn 
for  the  worst.  A  little  middle-aged  man  called 
Cru,  from  Dunkerque,  who  on  account  of  his 

[167] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

round  shoulders,  and  long  hooked  nose  re- 
sembled a  human  interrogation  point,  threat- 
ened congestion  of  the  lungs ;  Leon  Lecucq,  the 
very  young  lad  who  had  no  one  in  the  world 
but  his  boarding-house  keeper,  and  Jules 
Mackerey,  a  handsome  blonde  headed  fellow, 
developed  numerous  sinister  complications. 
Mackerey's  symptoms  were  particularly  alarm- 
ing on  account  of  the  rapidity  with  which  they 
developed.  As  to  Bonson,  the  tall,  gaunt, 
artilleryman  who  had  so  frightened  me  the 
night  of  my  first  vigil,  nothing  in  the  world 
could  keep  him  in  bed,  and  I  heartily  thanked 
Heaven  his  ward  was  on  the  ground  floor,  for 
several  times  we  caught  him  opening  the  win- 
dow and  preparing  to  wander  away,  clothed 
but  in  his  nightshirt.  When  put  back,  he 
would  murmur  something  in  Basque  (as  I 
learned  afterwards)  and  stare  at  a  fixed  spot 
just  beyond  our  heads. 

Monsieur  Cru,  as  we  all  called  him,  (he  was 
the  only  one  we  ever  addressed  other  than  by 
his  christian  or  surname,  why  I  cannot  tell) 
was  less  delirious  than  the  other  and  extremely 
easy  to  care  for.  We  had  no  difficulty  what- 
ever in  getting  him  to  submit  to  our  very  heroic 

[168] 


t  ' 


;*■:;»»,  ^^■■' 


THE   COLLEGE    DDOR,  SOISSONS 


MY    HOME   IN    THE   FIELD   OF    MERCY 

treatment.  I  can  still  hear  his  high  pitched 
tenor  voice  wavering — "C'est  pour  mon  hien'^ 
— it's  all  for  my  good,  whenever  we  did  any- 
thing that  was  particularly  disagreeable  to  him. 
Happy  philosopher ! 

Leon  Lecucq,  on  arriving  and  while  waiting 
to  be  bathed  had  caught  up  a  novel  that  hap- 
pened to  be  lying  on  the  vestibule  table,  and 
from  that  moment  throughout  his  entire  illness 
refused  to  let  go  of  it.  What  he  imagined  it 
was,  I  really  couldn't  say,  but  when  we  would 
approach  his  bed  and  uncover  him  for  his  bath 
he  would  draw  himself  up  into  a  little  bunch, 
and  putting  his  book  beneath  him,  sputter  some 
indefinable  phrases  at  whoever  tried  to  take  it 
from  him.  It  was  almost  pitch-battle  three 
times  a  day. 

The  arrival  of  Bonson's  mother  was  the  only 
thing  that  for  an  instant  distracted  our  atten- 
tion from  our  somewhat  gloomy  situation. 
The  little,  dark-skinned  Basque  woman,  wear- 
ing her  native  costume  and  carrying  a  heavy 
market  basket  on  either  arm,  had  journeyed  all 
the  way  from  the  Spanish  border  to  embrace 
her  only  child.  She  spoke  httle  or  no  French, 
but  if  one  were  to  judge  from  her  expression, 

[169] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

she  was  entirely  master  of  her  sentiments. 
They  were  hidden  deep  down  in  her  heart,  and 
not  meant  for  pubHc  display.  She  gently 
kissed  her  big,  suffering  boy  who  failed  to 
recognise  her,  emptied  the  fresh  eggs,  butter 
and  apples  from  her  baskets,  put  them  at  my 
disposal,  and  then  went  her  way  leaving  behind 
a  very  agreeable  impression. 

The  gravity  of  the  situation  demanded  the 
constant  presence  of  our  doctor  who  never 
went  beyond  the  gates  of  our  property  for 
nearly  six  weeks.  His  reports  were  telephoned 
to  headquarters,  who  in  return  sent  us  news  of 
all  kinds,  the  chief  item  of  interest  being  the 
announcement  that  a  new  orderly,  an  extra, 
was  shortly  to  join  the  contingent  already  at 
the  chateau. 

The  arrival  of  a  recruit  such  as  Barbarin  was 
to  us  much  like  a  gift  from  the  Gods.  He  put 
new  life  and  spirit  into  our  overworked  staff, 
who  for  the  moment  were  somewhat  worn  out 
by  long  vigils  and  our  ever  increasing  demands 
upon  their  strength. 

Short  of  stature,  quick  of  movement,  with  a 
pair  of  bright  eyes  and  an  exceptionally  mobile 
countenance,  Barbarin  with  his  many  gestures 

[170] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

made  us  think  of  those  masks  belonging  to  the 
famous  "Comedia  dell'  Arte." 

"Where  do  you  come  from?"  I  questioned. 

"Paname",  was  the  brief  reply. 

I  still  looked  askance.  That  particular  point 
in  France  was  unknown  to  me.  Barbarin  saw 
my  quandary. 

''Eh  hien,  quoi — PantrucTie!" 

I  was  no  wiser  than  before,  and  he  knew  it, 
so  bursting  with  a  rippling  laugh, 

"That  means  Paris,  of  course." 

I  might  have  guessed  it.  Who  in  the  world 
but  a  Parisian  could  possess  that  love  of  in- 
trigue. 

"What  is  your  trade?" 

"I  don't  belong  to  the  trade." 
"You  have  sufficient  fortune  not  to  need  one?" 

That  was  indeed  a  diplomatic  stroke  on  my 
part,  and  a  surprise  even  to  Barbarin.  He  put 
one  hand  into  his  pocket  and  with  the  other 
stroked  his  beardless  chin,  and  wondered 
whether  or  not  I  was  chaffing  him.  He  decided 
to  try  me  out. 

"That  depends  on  what  day  it  is." 

"Oh,  I  see",  said  I  catching  his  thought, 
"Then  you  follow  a  liberal  career?" 

[171] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   EIELD    OF    MERCY 

"Yes",  came  the  answer  accompanied  by  a 
broad  smile. 

"Which  one,  might  I  ask?" 

"The  stage." 

"Ah!" 

"Yes,  just  before  the  war  broke  out,  I  was 
chief  super  at  the  Theatre  de  Belleville." 

I  had  great  difficulty  controlling  my  counte- 
nance. One  reads  about  such  people  in  books, 
of  which  Private  Gaspard  is  a  brilliant  ex- 
ample, but  seldom  or  ever  hopes  to  come  into 
actual  contact  with  the  real  thing. 

"Are  you  married?" 

"Yes." 

"And  your  salary  as  super  is  sufficient  to 
keep  a  wife,  perhaps  a  family?" 

This  may  seem  like  a  very  bald  interrogatory, 
but  to  the  average  "poilu"  of  Barbarin's  class, 
it  is  on  the  contrary  an  appreciable  mark  of 
interest. 

"Ah,  I  couldn't  live  on  that  alone,  but  one 
must  be  versatile  in  this  age.  I  used  to  do  a 
very  good  business  in  toy  rabbits." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"You  know  those  little  rabbits  that  jump 
when  you  squeeze  a  rubber  ball." 

[172] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 


Of  course,  I  had  seen  them  many  times  sold 
by  hawkers  beneath  the  arcades  on  the  Rue  de 
Rivoh.    I  nodded  my  assent. 

"They  were  good  for  a  while,  but  last  year 
trade  was  running  lov,%  and  nobody  seemed  to 
invent  anything  new  that  was  just  as  good,  so 
in  the  da>i;ime  I  took  to  doing  wrestling 
matches  with  a  friend  on  the  public  squares  up 
by  Belleville." 

"I  see." 

"In  July  he  got  a  sunstroke  which  laid  him 
up,  so  I  taught  tango  for  a  while,  and  then  the 
war  cama  along  and  I  didn't  have  to  look  for 
another  job." 

"Have  3^ou  been  to  the  front?" 

Barbarin  proudly  displayed  a  right  hand  on 
which  the  index  finger  was  lacking. 

"Battle  of  the  Marne",  he  continued  glibly. 
"'Only  time  I  ever  regretted  being  born  with 
legs!     Wheels  would  have  made  it  so  much 


easier." 


His  sincerity  was  as  amusing  as  his  good 
humour  was  infectious.  He  didn't  seem  to  re- 
quire any  instructions.  In  two  hours'  time  he 
had  visited  the  chateau  in  detail,  joked  with 
the  help  in  the  kitchen,  and  pronounced  his 

[  173] 


MY    HOME   IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MEECY 

opinion  on  the  final  issue  of  not  only  the  war, 
but  each  and  every  case  of  typhoid  in  our 
wards. 

Gentle  in  his  movements,  performing  the 
most  obnoxious  duties  with  a  smile  and  a  caus- 
tic remark,  he  soon  endeared  himself  not  only 
to  the  officers  and  the  staff,  but  to  the  sick  men 
themselves,  on  account  of  his  apparent  intense 
interest  in  their  individual  cases.  He  had  a 
kind  word  for  all  and  was  unsparing  in  time 
and  pains  so  long  as  they  aided  in  procuring  the 
slightest  pleasure  to  a  patient. 

"Barbarin,  give  me  a  cigarette",  pleaded  a 
semi-convalescent  to  whose  similar  request  the 
doctor  had  made  a  negative  gesture. 

"You're  too  young",  was  the  amiable  reply, 
far  less  aggravating  than  a  flat  refusal. 

"Barbarin,  did  you  ever  have  typhoid?", 
questioned  a  long,  thin  man  whose  feet  stuck 
out  beyond  the  iron  bars  of  the  bed. 

"Surely,  three  times  when  I  was  a  kid,  that's 
why  I  never  grew  any  taller.  You've  got 
nothing  to  worry  about!" 

"Barbarin,  my  bed's  so  hot,  can't  you  do 
something  for  it?"  wailed  another. 

"Just  wait  till  Spring  comes,  old  man,  and 

[174] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEKCY 

then  we'll  put  you  out  on  the  lawn",  was  the 
cheerful  response. 

And  so  it  went,  day  in  and  day  out  regard- 
less of  atmosphere  or  surroundings,  a  really 
admirable  untarrying  source  of  good  humour. 
But  it  was  in  ward  number  three,  our  desperate 
cases,  that  Barbarin  was  at  his  zenith.  He  be- 
gan by  carefully  scrutinising,  first  the  name 
cards  tied  to  the  foot  of  the  beds,  and  then  the 
persons  to  whom  the  designations  belonged. 
Evidently  deciding  that  the  two  did  not  go  har- 
moniously together,  he  rebaptized  every  pa- 
tient according  to  his  own  peculiar  fantasy,  and 
presently,  in  spite  of  ourselves,  we  were  using 
his  terms  in  preference  to  our  own. 

Monsieur  Cru  became  "the  bric-a-brac  from 
Dunkerque",  Lecucq  was  tenderly  dubbed 
"Dudule",  Bonson  "The  Basque",  and  Mack- 
erey  "The  suspect". 

The  human  interrogation  point,  who  had  left 
his  sense  of  humour  behind  him,  in  his  china- 
store  when  he  joined  the  ranks,  probably  only 
half  relished  Barbarin's  somewhat  disrespectful 
levity,  but  as  we  tolerated  it,  he  was  too  polite 
to  complain. 

As  long  as  I  hve  I  shall  see  Barbarin  stand- 

[175] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

iiig  holding  a  basin  of  cold  water  into  which 
Monsieur  Cru  Avas  plunging  his  burning,  ema- 
ciated hands  and  arms. 

"Think  of  all  the  heat  that's  wasted  with 
these  fevers  and  coal  is  so  dear  too",  rambled  on 
the  Extra  as  he  absently  surveyed  his  patient. 
Then  suddenly  looking  down  he  continued, 
"Oh,  la,  la,  you  couldn't  have  been  any  too 
handsome  as  a  civilian,  our  uniform  probably 
didn't  add  much  to  your  beauty,  but  as  a  pa- 
tient you're  a  fright.  For  the  Lord's  sake 
hurry  up  and  get  well." 

When  he  found  out  Lecucq's  isolation  in  the 
world,  he  was  immediately  drawn  towards  him, 
and  his  voice  would  change  to  a  caressing  fal- 
setto as  he  would  bend  over  the  half  conscious 
body  that  the  relentless  fever  was  slowly  con- 
suming. 

"Poor  kid",  he  would  murmur.  "Hardly 
out  of  his  swaddling  clothes,  let  alone  knowing 
how  to  take  care  of  himself",  and  then  as  our 
treatment  demanded  that  none  of  these  men  be 
left  lying  long  in  the  same  position,  Barbarin 
would  gently  put  his  hands  beneath  the  boy's 
body  and  lift  him  high  into  the  air,  while  he 
smoothed  his  sheets. 

[  176  ] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEKCY 

"That's  it,  come  to  Mother.  Now  then  be  a 
good  boy,  nobody's  going  to  hurt  you",  and 
similar  phrases  were  hterally  cooed  into  Du- 
dule's  ears. 

Mackerey's  heart  was  one  of  his  numerous 
weak  points,  and  was  only  kept  in  motion  by 
means  of  stimulants  such  as  caffeine,  alter- 
nated with  hypodermics  of  camphorated  oil, 
and  each  time  one  of  us  would  approach  with 
the  needle,  Barbarin's  presentiment  told  him 
that  the  man  was  slowly  sinking,  and  instinc- 
tively he  used  every  physical  and  moral  effort 
to  snatch  him  from  the  brink  of  eternity. 

"Whoa  there!"  he  would  say,  as  he  dabbed 
a  spot  with  iodine  in  preparation  for  the  prick. 
"Whoa  there,  isn't  our  company  good  enough 
for  you  that  you're  so  anxious  to  leave  us? 
Hold  on  a  minute,  we  need  you  to  cheer  when 
the  boys  come  home  victorious.  This  is  no  time 
to  let  go  the  banisters." 

But  his  efforts,  as  well  as  ours,  were  useless. 
Mackerey  grew  slowly  weaker  and  weaker,  re- 
sistance was  less  and  less  evident.  On  the 
doctor's  advice  a  telegram  was  transmitted 
through  headquarters  to  his  family  who  lived 
near  Arras,  urging  some  one  to  come.    From 

[  177] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

the  religious  medals  and  his  rosary  we  knew 
that  our  patient  was  a  Roman  Catholic,  so  the 
priest  was  sent  for,  who  gave  the  dying  man 
absolution  and  offered  up  a  prayer. 

In  spite  of  all,  I  could  not  believe  that  we 
would  not  save  him,  and  the  doctor,  Barbarin 
and  I  never  left  his  bedside  for  a  moment.  It 
was  evident  Mackerey  was  unconscious  for  the 
lines  in  his  face  softened;  I  even  imagined  a 
faint  smile  was  on  his  lips.  In  the  stillness  of 
the  midnight  hour  his  breathing  grew  easier, 
and  I  turned  to  the  fii'e  for  an  instant's  repose. 
Barbarin  took  my  place,  and  a  second  later 
when  I  faced  about  I  could  see  the  little  come- 
dian who  seating  himself  on  the  dying  man's 
bed,  half  raised  him  to  an  upright  posture,  and 
putting  his  hands  on  his  shoulders  gently  shook 
him  while  he  said  in  short  impassioned  tones 
— "You  shan't  go,  old  man,  you  shan't,  do  you 
hear !    We  need  you,  France  needs  you !" 

At  three  o'clock  I  was  relieved.  I  went  re- 
luctantly, but  nothing,  not  even  the  menace  of 
court  martial  would  persuade  Barbarin  to 
leave  his  post. 

''Ce  n'est  pas  chic — ce  n'est  pas  chic",  he 
remonstrated,  and  so  he  remained. 

[178] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

I  could  not  rest.  At  six  o'clock  I  dressed 
and  went  below.  It  was  still  almost  dark  but 
when  I  entered  the  ward  I  could  see  that  the 
sheet  on  Mackerey's  bed  had  been  drawn  close 
up  to  the  head  board.  Neither  doctor  nor 
nurse  was  present.  Over  by  the  fire,  his  elbow 
on  his  knee,  his  head  resting  in  the  palm  of  his 
hand,  sat  Barbarin,  gazing  steadily  into  the 
dying  embers.    He  turned  about  as  I  entered. 

"He  left  us  just  after  you  went",  was  all  he 
said. 


[179] 


VII 

For  many  reasons  it  was  deemed  advisable 
to  hold  the  funeral  next  morning.  It  would 
then  be  December  twenty-fourth,  and  it  hardly 
seemed  right  that  Christmas  for  all  those  who 
remained,  no  matter  how  mild  the  celebration, 
be  overcast  by  the  shadow  of  Death. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  a  little  old  white- 
haired  peasant,  wearing  a  long-out-of-date 
frock  coat  was  admitted  to  my  office.  He  was 
Mackerey's  father.  It  was  a  difficult  thing 
to  tell  him  he  had  come  too  late,  and  though  no 
sound  escaped  when  I  broke  the  sad  news,  the 
glance  that  darted  from  his  clear  blue  eyes, 
made  me  feel  like  an  executioner. 

We  escorted  him  to  the  round  tower  where 
the  mortal  remains  had  been  transferred,  and 
both  Madame  Guix  and  I  were  moved  to  tears 
by  the  old  man's  silent  grief.  Drawing  down 
the  sheet  he  kissed  the  dead  lad  on  the  forehead 
and  murmured. 

"He  was  all  I  had." 

These  were  the  only  words  that  ever  escaped 
him. 

[  180  ] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEKCY 

To  our  offers  of  finding  room  for  hini  until 
the  morrow,  he  only  shook  his  head.  Even  the 
invitation  to  be  present  when  the  coffin  should 
be  closed,  was  refused.  He  seemed  to  have  a 
subtle  horror  of  the  place,  as  of  everything 
that  had  witnessed  the  passing  of  his  son,  and 
disappeared  down  the  village  road  without  in- 
forming us  whether  or  not  he  would  ever  re- 
turn. 

Contrary  to  its  usual  custom,  the  sun  rose 
clear  and  bright  in  the  morning  sky.  It  seemed 
almost  to  mock  our  sorrow,  to  urge  us  to  look 
forward  to  the  glories  of  another  day,  not  back- 
ward upon  sufferings  now  past.  It  made  the 
hoar  frost  glisten  like  diamonds  in  the  rare 
leaves  still  clinging  to  the  trees,  and  the  ma- 
jestic pines  stood  out  black  against  the  brilliant 
blue,  forming  a  velvety  background  for  the 
facade  of  the  chateau  nestling  almost  at  their 
feet. 

The  ceremony  was  set  for  eight  o'clock,  but 
by  half  past  seven  the  court  yard  was  full  of  vil- 
lagers who  in  their  Sunday  clothes  had  come  to 
pay  their  humble  tribute  to  this  unknown  son 
of  France,  anxious  to  show  in  any  way  they 
could  their  appreciation  of  his  great  sacrifice. 

[181] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

Flowers,  we  had  none,  nor  was  there  any  way 
of  procuring  them.  Not  a  green  house  existed 
in  the  army  zone,  so  Madame  Guix  and  Made- 
moiselle Alice,  twined  a  large  wreath  of  ivy 
which  they  gathered  from  the  wall.  Later  on 
some  little  girls  brought  in  three  or  four  half 
blown  geraniums,  the  only  fresh  flowers  in  the 
village,  gathered  from  the  window-box  at  the 
schoolhouse. 

Monsieur  Duguey,  schoolmaster  and  vil- 
lage clerk,  loaned  the  flag  from  the  town-hall 
to  cover  the  coflin,  and  we  were  all  astonished  at 
his  uncontrollable  emotion  as  he  placed  it  on 
the  bier.  Great  tears  streamed  down  his 
cheeks,  it  seemed  as  though  he  were  fore- 
warned that  his  only  son  who  had  just  gone  to 
the  front,  would  one  day  be  buried  with  like 
ceremony. 

On  the  flag  was  placed  the  soldier's  topcoat 
and  kepi,  together  with  our  wreath,  and  the 
tiny  bunch  of  flowers.  For  the  occasion,  our 
four  orderlies  who  still  belonged  to  the  active 
service,  abandoned  their  aprons  and  after  bur- 
nishing up  their  guns  and  trappings,  consti- 
tuted themselves  guard  of  honour. 

At  ten  minutes  of  eight  we  could  hear  the 

[182] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEECY 

even  tramp  of  soldiers'  feet  on  the  highroad, 
and  George  came  in  to  announce  that  one  hun- 
di*ed  convalescent,  or  slightly  wounded  sol- 
diers from  the  convent-hospital  at  Charly,  had 
asked  and  obtained  permission  to  march  four 
miles  to  our  gate,  in  order  to  conduct  their 
brother  in  arms  to  his  last  resting-place. 

Sharply  at  eight  the  little  bell  in  our  Church 
began  tolling  the  dirge,  and  as  our  officers  ap- 
peared on  the  steps  a  wounded  corporal 
stepped  from  among  the  visiting  troops  and 
conferred  a  minute  with  the  guard  of  honour 
who  stood  on  either  side  of  the  steps  leading 
into  the  round  tower.  As  the  door  opened  and 
the  flag  draped  coffin  appeared,  the  corporal's 
voice  rang  out  clear  in  the  morning  air. 

"Present  arms!" 

The  boys'  rifles  clicked  into  position. 

Slowly  the  coffin  was  borne  down  the  step 
and  carried  towards  the  gate,  followed  by  the 
dead  man's  father  who  had  mysteriously  re- 
turned. Behind  him  our  officers  walked  erect 
the  sun  catching  in  their  gold  braided  uniforms, 
while  directly  succeeding  them  the  three 
nurses,  Madame  Guix,  Mademoiselle  Alice  and 
myself,  took  our  places.    Our  long  dark  capes 

[183] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

and  flowing  white  head-dress  gave  a  mediaeval 
touch  to  the  picture,  making  it  aknost  theat- 
rical in  its  effect,  and  as  I  looked  back  I  could 
see  the  villagers  two  by  two  had  fallen  into  line 
behind  the  soldiers,  while  from  the  windows 
leaned  the  orderlies  left  in  charge  of  the  hos- 
pital. 

The  little  church  was  filled  to  overflowing, 
and  at  the  graveside  the  troops  once  again 
rendered  homage  to  the  glorious  defunct.  "Re- 
quiescat  in  pace",  murmured  the  priest,  as  the 
first  shovelful  of  earth  was  cast  in.  At  the 
same  moment  the  little  black  coated  figure 
swayed  pitifully.  Madame  Guix  and  I 
bounded  forward,  each  one  catching  him  by 
an  arm ;  but  he  had  mastered  himself. 

Now  that  all  ceremony  was  over  the  soldiers 
were  ordered  not  to  stay  any  longer  on  the 
damp  ground.  And  presently  the  only  ones 
remaining  to  see  the  grave  covered  over  were 
the  boy's  father,  Madame  Guix  and  myself,  to 
whom  he  clung  pathetically. 

"We'll  go  back  to  the  house  at  once,"  said  I 
when  finally  we  moved  away.  "I'll  give  you 
something  to  brace  you  up  before  you  start 
on  your  journey." 

[  184] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 


The  old  man  shook  his  head. 

"Why  wont  you  come?" 

He  refused  to  give  an  explanation  but  re- 
mained firm  in  his  decision  of  leaving  at  once. 
Seeing  this,  Madame  Guix  pulled  from  beneath 
her  cape  the  little  personal  trinkets  which  had 
been  found  in  Mackerey's  pockets ;  his  military 
book,  a  photograph  or  two,  together  with  his 
rosary,  and  a  lock  of  his  hair  which  she  had  cut 
off  and  added  to  the  neatly  done  up  parcel. 

"Will  you  carry  these  to  his  mother?" 

The  little  old  man  nodded  assent,  took  the 
package  and  without  another  word  turned  and 
started  up  the  road.  We  stood  and  watched 
him  out  of  sight. 

At  the  chateau  life  continued  much  the  same 
as  before  and  apparently  I  was  the  only  one 
sensible  of  any  difference  in  the  situation.  Our 
failure  to  save  Mackerey's  life,  the  reproachful 
look  in  his  father's  eyes  made  me  feel  as  though 
I  had  been  personally  responsible  for  his  case, 
and  now  that  the  tension  was  over,  I  could  not 
find  courage  to  go  on  from  where  we  had  left 
off. 

In  the  afternoon  I  ached  to  get  away  from 
it  all,  and  by  careful  changes  in  our  diagi*am, 

[185] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

managed  to  obtain  two  hours  leave.  Taking 
the  dogs,  every  one  of  them,  I  started  down  the 
long  alley,  my  thoughts  travelling  even  faster 
than  my  feet,  and  though  at  the  outset  I  had 
no  determined  destination,  I  unconsciously 
found  myself  visiting  the  favourite  spots  where 
H.  and  I  had  spent  so  many  happy  hours  to- 
gether. Now  I  was  seated  on  a  marble  bench 
gazing  up  at  the  skeletons  of  lime  trees  that 
touched  each  other  cathedral  like  above  my 
head ;  now  I  found  myself  wandering  down  by 
our  tiny  river,  scanning  the  every  contour  of 
a  giant  oak  he  had  so  often  planned  painting, 
and  presently  I  was  climbing  to  the  very  sum- 
mit of  our  grounds,  the  dogs  capering  and 
yelping  before  me.  Why  I  abandoned  the 
regular  path,  I  cannot  tell.  I  seemed  to  be 
running  a  race  with  the  pale  yellow  sun  that 
was  fast  sinking  behind  the  hills.  Struggling, 
panting,  gloriously  victorious  physically,  but 
mentally  tortured  by  fearful  misgivings,  I 
reached  the  top  of  the  hill  just  as  the  sun  shot 
its  last  resplendent  rays  from  the  West,  bath- 
ing me  in  a  pale  gold  sheen,  and  transforming 
every  ripple  on  the  far  distant  Marne  into  a 
tongue  of  light.    It  was  like  a  fleeting  glimpse 

[  186] 


MY    HOME   IN    THE   FIELD   OF    MERCY 

of  Eternity  and  I  stood  motionless  for  many 
minutes  as  the  fast  rolling  dark  blue  clouds 
swiftly  swept  the  vision  from  my  view.  A 
long  rumble  in  the  distance,  a  vivid  reminder 
of  stern  realities  brought  me  to  myself.  I 
winked  hard,  and  then  looked  about  me,  liter- 
ally unconscious  of  where  I  was.  In  a  second 
the  spell  was  broken,  and  drawing  my  cape 
closer  I  hurried  towards  a  beaten  path,  anxious 
not  to  be  overtaken  by  the  darkness.  Suddenly 
I  stopped.  What  was  that  just  before  me?  A 
mound?  No  such  thing  had  hitherto  been  there. 
Leaning  forward,  my  eyes  piercing  the  twilight 
I  gradually  discerned  a  humble  wooden  cross. 

A  gi-ave,  a  soldier's  grave  right  here  on  my 
own  property,  and  I  had  not  known  it.  In- 
stinctively I  felt  it  was  not  a  German.  "Who 
were  the  gallant  defenders  of  my  home?  In  an 
instant  I  could  touch  the  cap  that  swung  from 
the  apex  of  the  cross.  Beaten  by  every  element 
for  more  than  four  months  now,  it  no  longer 
had  a  shape,  all  that  I  could  tell  was  that  it  was 
British.  I  strained  my  eyes  to  read  the  inscrip- 
tion that  had  been  wi'itten  in  pencil.  It  was 
blurred  beyond  deciphering. 

To-morrow,  I  planned,  we  would  come  again 

[187] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEKCY 

and  try  to  read  it,  and  bring  with  us  a  humble 
token  of  our  gratitude,  a  wreath  of  ivy. 

Night  had  enveloped  me  in  darkness  before  I 
reached  home,  and  coming  towards  the  refec- 
tory wing,  great  peals  of  laughter  greeted  me 
from  that  direction.  Lamplight  gleamed 
through  the  uncurtained  windows,  and  loathe 
to  break  in  upon  the  merriment  I  hesitated  be- 
fore opening  the  door.  From  where  I  stood  I 
caught  sight  of  Barbarin  perched  on  the  long 
dining-room  table  juggling  with  a  handful  of 
oranges,  much  to  the  delight  of  my  entue 
domestic  staff,  and  the  "Heavenly  Twins"  who 
were  off  duty.  A  second  later,  the  inside  door 
opened  and  Yvonne  and  Nini  appeared  with  a 
turkish  bathrobe  in  which  they  promptly  en- 
veloped the  juggler,  while  Chou  and  Theirage 
handed  him  a  beard  and  moustache  wrought 
out  of  a  roll  of  absorbent  cotton. 

"Pere  Noel !  Pere  Noel !  Santa  Claus !"  they 
all  shrieked  with  delight  while  assisting  him  to 
glue  on  the  beard  with  the  white  of  an  egg,  and 
to  hoist  a  grape  picker's  basket  full  of  oranges 
to  his  shoulders.  Barbarin  danced  from  one 
end  of  that  long  refectory  table  to  the  other, 
and  when  finally  exhausted,  they  helped  him 

[  188] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MERCY 

down  and  started  him  on  his  rounds  distribut- 
ing the  meagre  presents  they  had  been  able  to 
procure. 

I  met  him  in  the  vestibule  on  his  return  trip, 
his  robe  dragging  on  the  floor  behind  him,  his 
basket  empty,  his  countenance  radiant  with  the 
joy  of  success.  My  presence  must  have  sud- 
denly recalled  the  anxious  hours  of  the  night 
just  past,  for  his  face  dropped  as  he  approached 
me,  and  with  a  seriousness  that  was  most  ludi- 
crous when  one  considered  his  attitude  and 
garb,  he  explained — 

"It  seemed  my  duty  to  cheer  them  up  a  bit, 
otherwise  they'd  all  have  died  of  gloom." 

Save  for  a  little  impromptu  merry-making  in 
the  kitchen  Christmas  came  and  went  unat- 
tended by  any  happening  of  note.  The  guns 
on  our  immediate  front  rolled  longer  and 
louder  than  I  had  ever  heard  them  before.  At 
moments  it  was  really  alarming:  what  little 
china  and  glassware  we  possessed,  danced  on 
their  shelves  in  the  cupboards,  and  such  of  our 
window  panes  as  remained,  tinkled  and  fell  to 
the  ground,  later  to  be  replaced  by  sheets  of 
oiled  paper. 

A  half  dozen  patients  in  the  upstairs  wards 

[  189] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

suddenly  developed  disquieting  symptoms, 
while  below  we  had  a  hand  to  hand  struggle 
with  death,  which  seemed  destined  to  carry  off 
little  "Dudule".  It  might  be  truly  said  that 
Madame  Guix  literally  forced  the  breath  of 
life  into  his  slender  delicate  body,  too  exhausted 
to  carry  on  the  combat.  Night  and  day  she 
worked  over  him  as  though  resentful  of  the 
other's  slipping  beyond  her  control,  and  we 
were  well  into  the  new  year  before  the  danger 
mark  was  passed,  and  our  patients  entered 
upon  their  convalescence. 

It  was  after  this  happy  stage  had  been 
reached  that  I  cast  aside  my  nurse's  garb  and 
assumed  the  housewife's  apron.  Until  now  the 
domestic  side  of  hospital  life  had  demanded  but 
trifling  attention.  It  had  been  easy  for  our 
cooks  to  procure  sufficient  food  for  the  house- 
hold and  the  staff ;  our  patients  had  taken  little 
or  nothing  solid,  but  forewarned  of  their  on- 
coming voracity,  I  realised  it  was  high  time  to 
prepare. 

The  rapidity  with  which  we  had  become  a 
typhoid  hospital  had  hardly  permitted  us  to 
ascertain  for  just  which  post  the  four  men  I 
had  been  allowed  to  retain,  were  best  fitted. 

[  190] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

Luckily  they  were  intelligent  and  readily 
adapted  themselves  to  their  surroundings. 
The  "Heavenly  Twins"  developed  into  excel- 
lent general  houseworkers,  "Chou"  even  going 
so  far  as  to  darn  the  officers'  socks.  Dubuis, 
though  it  had  been  some  time  since  he  had  stood 
over  a  stove,  had  once  been  chief  steward  in  an 
Officers'  Club  at  Noyon,  so  naturally  his  tend- 
encies were  towards  the  culinary  department, 
where  he  was  seconded  by  Grantot,  an  engi-aver 
of  silver,  and  Maria  Colin  a  one  time  Parisian 
charwoman,  who  hearing  of  my  plight  had 
secured  a  passport  and  come  straight  out  "to  do 
her  bit",  refusing  any  remuneration  for  her 
services. 

Decidedly  Dubuis  had  a  genius  for  organ- 
ising, for  when  finally  I  took  over  the  reins  I 
found  there  was  nothing  left  for  me  to  do  but 
follow  out  his  well  laid  plans.  In  fact  he  had 
far  surpassed  anything  I  had  ever  hoped  to 
attain,  his  past  experience,  not  only  as  a  stew- 
ard, but  as  proprietor  of  a  dairy  products  shop 
in  the  immediate  suburbs  of  Paris,  fitting  him 
wonderfully  well  not  only  to  deal  with  the  local 
tradespeople,  but  even  with  the  wariest  of  peas- 
ants. 

[191] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

Unwilling  to  worry  me  at  a  time  when  he 
knew  I  most  needed  encom-agement,  but  ang- 
ered by  the  dealings  of  one  of  the  provincial 
butchers,  he  resolved  it  would  be  wiser  for  us 
to  raise  our  own  cattle.  There  was  plenty  of 
room  in  the  stables,  besides  hay  in  the  lofts  and 
mangles  in  the  cellar,  so  writing  to  his  wife  to 
send  him  sufficient  funds,  he  gladly  risked  them 
against  my  displeasure,  and  his  own  compe- 
tence as  a  buyer. 

Making  arrangements  to  be  gone  overnight, 
he  took  old  Cesar  and  descended  into  the  Brie 
country,  returning  the  next  day  with  a  surpris- 
ing number  of  bullocks  and  sheep,  two  milch 
cows  and  a  half  dozen  pigs. 

His  great  forte  lay  in  the  buying,  selling  and 
exchanging  of  our  cattle  and  their  products, 
besides  making  the  hospital  independent  of  any 
dealer. 

Milk,  butter  and  cheese  soon  became  home 
produce,  and  what  we  could  not  consume  was 
either  marketed  once  a  week  for  cash  at  Cha- 
teau Thierry,  or  exchanged  for  fresh  vegetables 
or  eggs. 

Oranges  and  salt  jfish  were  bought  at  whole- 
sale in  Paris  by  his  wife,  shipped  direct  by  rail 

[192] 


MY   HOME   IN    THE   FIELD   OF   MEECY 

to  Headquarters  where  they  were  met  by  our 
cart,  unloaded,  reloaded  and  dragged  eleven 
miles  to  Villiers.  It  was  a  great  deal  of  work 
but  so  well  systematised  that  we  barely  felt  the 
strain,  and  were  deeply  grateful  for  his  varied 
bill  of  fare. 

Ever5i;hing  was  done  with  a  smile.  Those 
who  worked  with  him  adored  and  feared  him; 
those  with  whom  he  dealt  were  the  same.  It 
was  thanks  to  Dubuis,  that  I  was  one  day 
offered  the  pleasing  spectacle  of  our  chief 
steward,  our  far  famed,  vice  hardened  poacher, 
and  our  gendarme  (his  sworn  enemy)  coming 
down  the  road  arm  in  arm,  discussing  recent 
events  as  though  twenty  years  of  enmity  and 
hati'ed  had  never  existed. 

New  Year's  week  witnessed  a  great  improve- 
ment in  all  of  the  wards.  Several  of  the  lighter 
cases  entered  into  the  convalescent  period, 
while  upstairs  our  anxiety  was  greatly  relieved 
by  a  decided  turn  for  the  better.  As  to  our 
severe  cases,  while  the  actual  crisis  Avas  passed, 
our  patients  were  so  feeble  that  complications 
were  still  to  be  feared,  and  as  time  went  on  and 
their  conditions  ameliorated,  it  was  intensely 
interesting  to  see  them  open  their  eyes  and  look 

[193] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEKCY 

about  them  as  though  in  a  totally  strange  place, 
while  in  reality  they  had  been  in  the  same  wards 
for  weeks. 

Monsieui'  Cru  was  the  first  to  put  order  into 
his  mental  state,  and  one  morning  asked  us  the 
day  of  the  week  and  month  we  were  in.  His 
astonishment  when  we  told  him  it  was  January, 
1915,  was  such  that  I  feared  for  a  moment  lest 
he  question  his  own  sanity. 

"But  my  wife,  what  on  earth  will  she  say  to 
me?  I  promised  to  write  her  every  week. 
Maybe  she  thinks  I'm  dead." 

"No,  she  doesn't  old  man",  cheerfully  re- 
sponded Barbarin,  "We  saw  to  that." 

The  next  moment  he  began  feeling  all  over 
his  body  as  though  he  had  lost  something,  and 
then  nearly  burst  into  tears. 

"They've  stolen  her  picture  and  my  watch", 
he  moaned,  "How  dreadful,  she'll  never  forgive 
me." 

"Hold  on,  not  so  swift  my  lad,"  retorted 
Barbarin.  "You  seem  to  forget  that  for  nearly 
a  week  every  time  we  put  them  under  your 
pillow,  you  pulled  them  out  and  threw  them  on 
the  floor.  If  you'll  wait  just  a  second  I'll  come 
over  to  your  night  table  and  get  them  for 

[  194] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

you."  Monsieur  Cru  was  much  abashed  and 
reheved. 

"I?  I  did  that",  he  murmured,  "How  dis- 
respectful." 

"A  darn  nuisance  I  thought  at  the  time", 
rejoined  Barbarin  producing  the  much  cher- 
ished articles. 

The  "Bric-a-brac  from  Dunkerque"  care- 
fully scrutinized  all  the  "Bibelots"  and  mur- 
mured, "Yes,  they're  all  here,  both  her  picture 
and  the  girls." 

"Where'd  you  suppose  they'd  be?  Did  you 
think  I  took  'em?  What  on  earth  would  I 
want  with  your  wife's  picture,  I've  got  one  of 
my  own." 

"I  didn't  mean  that,  I  didn't  mean  that", 
promptly  protested  the  little  man,  "No  offence 
intended,  really."  And  then  by  way  of  making 
peace  he  held  up  the  photograph  of  a  woman 
and  invited  Barbarin's  attention. 

"Don't  you  think  she's  handsome?" 

What  on  earth  could  the  poor  man  do  but 
reply  in  the  affirmative? 

"And  here  are  the  girls,"  continued  the  thin 
wavering  voice.    "Such  lovely  children." 

Barbarin  looked  once,  then  again,  and  finally 

[195] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MERCY 

took  the  picture  in  his  hand  for  closer  inspec- 
tion. 

"How  old  are  they?",  he  queried  at  length. 

"Eighteen  and  twenty -two." 

"How  old  are  you?" 

"Thirty-four." 

Barbarin  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  dis- 
may. Until  that  moment  he  had  rejoiced  in 
Monsieur  Cru's  return  to  health,  but  now  con- 
vinced of  his  mental  inefficiency,  he  didn't  even 
try  to  argue. 

"Don't  you  think  you'd  better  lie  down? 
You've  talked  enough  for  to-day.  No  use 
overdoing." 

"I  know  you  think  I'm  crazy,  but  I'm  not", 
he  gasped  as  Barbarin  gently  pressed  him  back 
on  his  pillows,  "If  you'd  given  me  time  I  would 
have  told  you,  I  married  a  young  widow  three 
years  ago."  Monsieur  Cru  laid  special  stress 
on  the  word  young. 

Barbarin  could  no  longer  contain  himself,  his 
hands  on  his  sides,  he  laughed  until  he  cried, 
much  to  his  patient's  dismay. 

With  the  gradual  return  of  his  appetite 
Monsieur  Cru  became  more  and  more  exact- 
ing in  his  demands.    It  was  evident  the  young 

[196] 


w 


•"'-^*?^^ , 


■'*    •    i^  9^k 


!^\  r: 


Toij  unDfrStand,  MaiiaMe,  ton  Anf.; 

IN    THE   TRKNCHKS,    YOU    ARK    HUNGRY, 
THE    DINNER    IS    LATE    IN    COMING" 


MY    HOME    IN    THE.  FIELD    OF    MERCY 

widow  had  realised  his  fondness  for  food,  and 
had  very  cleverly  taken  advantage  of  it.  The 
necessary  simplicity  of  our  diet  was  a  constant 
source  of  distress  and  dissertation.  He  would 
sit  for  hours  talking  about  "Tasty  dishes", 
sometimes  smacking  his  lips  in  apprehension, 
but  always  philosophically  concluding — 

"What's  the  use  of  talking  about  it  all? 
This  war  has  completely  ruined  my  digestion. 
I'll  never  be  the  same  again." 

"It's  a  pity  about  you",  murmured  our 
"Extra". 

Evidently  our  patient  was  seeking  to  work 
out  the  exact,  direct  cause  of  his  illness,  which 
he  finally  traced  back  to  his  irregular  meals. 

"You  understand,  Madame,  you  are  in  the 
trenches,  you  are  hungry,  the  dinner  is  late  in 
coming.  You  just  get  nicely  started  when 
Bing!  another  attack.  By  the  time  you  get 
back,  your  food  is  cold.  The  only  day  we 
were  lucky  enough  to  have  chicken,  a  four  inch 
shell  burst  right  over  us.  Killed  two  and 
wounded  two  more.  You  can  say  what  you 
like,  but  a  thing  like  that  takes  your  appetite 
away.  I  couldn't  eat  a  mouthful  until  night. 
Ah,  war  is  wonderful,  but  it  does  change  our 

[  197] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

habits  so.    At  home  my  wife  used  to  bring  me 
my  chocolate  in  my  bed — " 

A  repressed,  but  audible,  giggle  arose  from 
the  corner  where  our  orderly  was  busy  with 
another  patient. 

Monsieur  Cru  continued,  ignoring  the  insult, 

"On  the  front  at  the  time  you  usually  expect 
chocolate,  you  get  tinned  pork  and  beans,  or 
sardines." 

"What's  the  use  of  expecting?  You  should 
worry.  The  first  three  years  of  the  war  we'll 
have  to  get  on  with  indigestion,  after  that  when 
we're  thoroughly  organised,  both  sides'll  agree 
to  knock  off  an  hour  at  noon  for  luncheon.  I 
promise  you  if  I'm  there  then  I'll  see  that  it 
is  done",  was  Barbarin's  irrelevant  reply,  which 
silenced  the  "Bric-a-brac"  who  went  on  nod- 
ding his  head  and  thinking  in  silence. 

Dudule's  fii'st  sign  of  real  consciousness  was 
evinced  the  morning  he  threw  his  much  cher- 
ished novel  from  the  coverlet  where  Barbarin 
had  carefully  placed  it. 

"What's  this  you're  trying  to  put  into  my 
bed?  No  wonder  I'm  sore."  He  laughed 
faintly  when  we  told  him  how  much  store  he 
had  set  by  the  now  abandoned  book. 

[  198] 


MY    HOME   IN    THE   FIELD    OF   MERCY 

"Well,  I'll  read  it  just  so  soon  as  my  eyes 
get  strong  enough.  There  must  be  some- 
thing worth  while  in  it  since  I  hung  on  to  it 

so  tight." 

The  youngest  of  all  our  patients,  he  who 
had  been  the  least  resistant.  The  malady  had 
ravaged  his  physique,  he  was  merely  skin  and 
bones,  his  great  brown  eyes  standing  out  in  his 
countenance  like  those  of  a  young  swallow 
still  in  the  nest.  But  he  was  prompt  to  react, 
and  thanks  to  daily  hypodermics  of  a  wonder- 
ful new  serum  sent  down  from  Headquarters, 
he  was  soon  able  to  be  about. 

"Ah,  la,  la,"  sighed  Barbarin,  who  now  had 
a  moment's  leisure  to  stretch  himself  in  front 
of  the  fire,  "I  used  up  a  new  pair  of  shppers 
just  running  for  you." 

The  timid  boy  blushed  scarlet  and  murmured 
an  apology.  He  was  grateful,  infinitely  grate- 
ful for  everything  we  had  done  for  him,  and 
never  missed  an  occasion  to  say  so. 

"And  Marguerite,  what  the  devil  is  her  ad- 
dress?, I  couldn't  find  it  anj^where.  For  the 
Lord's  sake  hurry  up  and  write  her  you're  still 
in  the  land  of  the  living." 

"Who  told  you  her  name  is  Marguerite?", 

[  199  ] 


MY    IIO]ME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

snapped  Dudule,  thereby  betraying  what  he 
most  wished  to  hide. 

"Who  told  me?    You  did." 

"When?" 

"Why  you've  been  screaming  about  her  for 
over  a  month  now.  There's  only  one  thing 
left  for  you  to  do.  Just  as  soon  as  your  pins 
get  steady,  go  and  marry  her.  Better  not  let 
her  come  to  see  you  right  away  either,  or  she'll 
never  consent.  You're  still  more  dead  than 
alive.  Why,  two  weeks  ago  to-day  they  took 
your  measure  for  a  coffin." 

This  was  pushing  the  pleasantry  a  little  far 
but  Dudule  was  equal  to  the  situation.  Turn- 
ing to  me,  he  demanded — 

"I'm  too  young  to  be  a  corpse,  am  I  not,  Ma- 
dame?" 

I  nodded  my  assent.  I  could  not  believe  it 
possible  that  the  war  would  not  be  over  by  the 
time  he  had  been  entirely  restored  to  health. 
But  who  can  prophesy? 

A  year  later  a  black  bordered  letter  signed 
Marguerite  Lecucq,  told  me  that  Dudule  had 
passed  on  the  Field  of  Honor  during  the  battle 
of  the  Somme,  leaving  his  nineteen  year  old 
widow  with  an  infant  son  to  support. 

[200] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEKCY 

Once  again  the  food  question  loomed  in  the 
distance.  For  the  moment,  however,  we  were 
obhged  to  keep  very  strict  watch  to  prevent 
the  convalescents  from  infringing  on  our  diet 
laws.  It  was  most  difficult  for  an  appetite 
is  a  hard  thing  to  curb,  and  I  feared  lest 
pressure  be  brought  to  bear  upon  one  or 
another  of  our  orderlies,  who  ignorant  of  the 
gravity  of  the  situation,  might  procure  some 
long  craved  edible,  thereby  causing  a  catas- 
trophe. 

Naturally  unsuspicious,  I  was,  nevertheless, 
surprised  to  see  a  soldier  whisk  something  be- 
neath his  counterpane,  when  I  unexpectedly 
opened  the  door  into  a  ward. 

"What  is  it?"  I  queried,  shaking  a  warning 
finger.  "Sweetm.eats?"  It  was  just  possible 
that  a  parcel  had  arrived  and  been  distributed 
uncensored. 

"No,  Madame,  really". 

"Then  what?" 

"Nothing." 

"Nothing?"  I  put  my  hand  onto  something 
lumpy  that  moved  a  trifle.  In  an  instant  I  had 
whipped  off  the  coverlet  much  to  the  sick  man's 
dismay,  and  my  surprised  gaze  was  met  by  a 

[201] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEKCY 

pair  of  round  brown  button  eyes  that  belonged 
to  Betsy — ^my  Boston  bull. 

"Oh,  please  don't  take  her  away",  pleaded 
the  soldier.  "Gamant  had  her  yesterday.  It's 
my  turn  to-day.  She's  been  such  a  comfort  to 
us  all.  She  seems  to  understand  everything  we 
tell  her.  This  room  has  planned  decorating 
her  for  devotion,  just  as  soon  as  we  can  get 
about",  and  that  is  how  Betsy  became  a  hero- 
ine, the  proud  possessor  of  a  tin-foil  medal ! 

In  certain  wards  the  men  gradually  began 
helping  themselves,  leaving  us  a  few  hours 
breathing  space  each  day.  I  was  all  for  send- 
ing Madame  Guix  on  a  vacation,  she  was  ter- 
ribly run-down  and  suffered  agonies  from  an 
abscess  beneath  her  arm,  though,  of  course,  she 
never  mentioned  it. 

Her  reply  to  any  such  argument  was  that 
my  condition  was  not  much  better  than  her's, 
that  it  was  my  turn  first,  and  so  forth,  to  all  of 
which  I  naturally  turned  a  deaf  ear. 

So  accustomed  had  we  become  to  our  work 
that  we  missed  the  strain  under  which  we  had 
laboured,  and  our  relaxation  was  most  fatigu- 
ing. We  had  not  long  to  wait  though,  for  quite 
unexpectedly  we  received  a  visit  from  the  mede- 

[  202  ] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

cin  chef,  who  descended  upon  the  hospital  with- 
out a  moment's  warning. 

This  caused  quite  a  flurry  among  the  mili- 
tary "Infirmiers",  Godec  among  others,  for 
whom  the  word  efficiency  must  have  been 
synonymous  with  smell,  for  he  dashed  up- 
stairs and  snatching  our  precious  bottle  of  dis- 
infectant from  the  shelf — distributed  its  con- 
tents so  generously  on  the  floors  of  the  wards 
that  all  my  patients  were  coughing  when  the 
doctor  arrived. 

We  were  approved  of.  We  had  done  so 
well  that  on  leaving,  the  Grand  Chef  informed 
me  that  I  was  to  choose  forty  men  who  could 
travel,  and  he  would  make  arrangements  to 
have  them  finish  their  convalescence  in  the 
interior  of  France. 

"You  must  make  room  for  others  who  need 
your  care  more  than  these  do  now." 

Two  days  later  the  list  on  my  table  bore  two 
score  new  names  and  the  hospital  registered 
complet. 


[203] 


VIII 

As  I  look  back  through  the  few  hastily  jotted 
notes  that  compose  my  diary,  I  realize  how  ex- 
ceptionally fortunate  was  our  hospital  in  find- 
ing the  proper  people  to  fill  the  various  posts 
— almost  without  effort  on  our  part!  This, 
naturally,  relieved  my  mind  of  a  tremendous 
burden,  and  permitted  me  to  enter  whole 
heartedly  into  whatever  duties  I  undertook. 

There  were  two  questions,  however,  which 
soon  became  problems,  and  we  seemed  help- 
lessly handicapped  in  finding  a  solution.  They 
were  apparently  beyond  the  domain  of  our  pos- 
sibilities. 

First  of  all,  the  shortage  of  coal.  By  dint  of 
unparalleled  economy,  the  burning  of  one  third 
dry  and  one  third  green  wood,  together  with  a 
few  lumps  of  the  precious  mineral,  Dubuis  had 
managed  to  make  my  stock  last  till  the  first 
week  in  January.  From  the  very  beginning  we 
had  not  once  thought  of  using  it  for  heating 
purposes,  our  supply  wouldn't  have  lasted  a 
week  under  such  circumstances. 

[204] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 


By  applying  to  Headquarters,  from  thence 
to  the  Colonel  in  charge  of  the  city's  welfare, 
and  finally  to  the  Prefet  of  the  Department, 
we  actually  managed  to  get  half  a  ton,  which  at 
the  price  of  great  labour  was  dragged  in  our 
farm  cart  from  Chateau  Thierry  to  Vilhers,  my 
horse  making  three  round  trips  of  twenty -two 
miles  each. 

A  second  demand  was  immediately  refused; 
coal  was  not  to  be  had  even  with  a  permis.  De- 
cidedly the  matter  took  on  an  alarming  aspect. 

Wood,  of  course,  we  had  in  any  quantity, 
but  green  wood.  We  made  a  careful  inspec- 
tion of  what  dry  stock  remained  in  the  shed, 
and  Dubuis  decided  that  by  merely  lighting  the 
fires  in  the  wards  with  such  material,  and  cov- 
ering them  with  green  logs,  we  could  get  a  con- 
siderable degree  of  heat.  This  would  leave 
enough  for  the  kitchen  range  until  railway 
facilities  permitted  easier  transportation,  which 
we  calculated  would  be  about  a  month  or  six 
weeks  at  the  longest. 

In  the  meantime  parties  composed  of  not 
only  our  orderlies,  but  a  good  many  of  the 
townspeople  who  willingly  lent  a  hand,  scoured 
the  woods  in  our  entire  district  in  quest  of  dead 

[205] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

limbs  and  branches  that  would  make  excellent 
fuel,  but  the  French  peasant  is  so  thrifty  that 
not  much  was  brought  in  to  swell  the  pile  that 
was  carefully  locked  in  the  shed,  Dubuis  in 
person  distributing  the  necessary  pittance  each 
night  and  morning.  It  was  not  long,  however, 
before  we  discovered  that  despite  our  careful 
reckoning,  our  supply  was  literally  melting 
away,  so  officers  and  staff  willingly  made  the 
sacrifice  of  fires  in  their  apartments,  replacing 
the  lack  of  heat  by  a  few  more  warm  clothes. 
But  we  had  counted,  alas!  without  the  humid- 
ity, never  unusual  in  the  Eastern  part  of 
France  during  the  Winter  season.  Almost 
immediately  it  penetrated  the  apartments,  an. 
I  can  even  now  recall  a  certain  day  in  February 
when  the  thermometer  registering  a  little  be- 
low 32°  Fh.  outside,  we  were  obliged  to  open 
the  dining-room  windows  to  keep  warm  dur- 
ing luncheon.  The  gravy  on  my  meat  turned 
solid  before  I  could  get  it  to  my  mouth. 

The  second  all  absorbing  question  was,  to- 
bacco. Much  has  been  said  of  its  necessity  to 
the  fighting  men  in  the  trenches,  but  I  fancy 
few  realise  the  moral  effect  of  a  cigarette  on 
a  convalescent  in  a  typhoid  hospital.    The  day 

[  206  ] 


MY    HOME   IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 


a  man  can  sit  up  in  bed,  clap  his  soldier's  cap  on 
one  ear,  and  puff  waves  of  smoke  into  his  neigh- 
bours' faces,  there  is  no  longer  any  doubt  as  to 
his  recovery.    He  is  cured. 

The  little  stock  that  a  village  tobacconist  had 
been  able  to  lay  in,  was  quickly  exhausted,  with 
no  means  of  replenishment  in  view.  At  Charly 
all  was  in  reserve  for  the  three  or  four  hundred 
wounded  men  at  the  local  hospital.  I  had 
written  to  friends  in  Paris,  who  all  had  their 
own  special  charities  to  look  after,  and  during 
the  past  weeks  railway  and  parcel  post  service 
had  been  extremely  intermittent  and  unsatis- 
factory. I  received  two  packages  of  two  hun- 
dred cigarettes  each ;  a  mere  drop  in  the  bucket, 
disposed  of  in  half  an  hour's  time. 

Headquarters  alone  remained:  I  made  my 
appeal  and  received  one  kilogram,  a  little  over 
two  pounds.  I  had  a  right  to  so  many  grammes 
per  head  every  ten  days,  as  had  every  other 
sanitary  formation,  but  Headquarters  could 
not  give  what  it  did  not  possess.  It  could 
promise — that  was  all,  "Patience  et  longueur  de 
temps    ..." 

It  was  more  than  annoying,  it  was  sickening, 
to  see  the  disappointment  that  greeted  each  of 

[207] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    EIELD    OF    MERCY 

my  futile  attempts  to  procure  the  much  de- 
manded perlot.  I  decided  to  carry  my  appeal 
to  a  higher  court.  I  went  to  the  Commandant 
de  la  Place,  in  whose  absence  I  was  referred  to 
Monsieur  le  Prefet.  To  him  I  explained  my 
nmnerous  futile  endeavours. 

"Madame  Macherez  ought  to  have  some",  he 
said  after  quite  a  long  silence  during  which  he 
had  been  thinking.  In  passing  let  me  explain 
that  the  lady  mentioned,  is  the  President  of  the 
Red  Cross  Chapter  in  our  department,  the 
Aisne. 

"Yes,  she  certainly  ought  to  have  some.  On 
account  of  daily  bombardment  it  has  been  de- 
cided to  evacuate  two  hospitals  at  Soissons,  but 
the  tobacco  is  probably  still  there.  Why  don't 
you  ask  her  for  it?" 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet",  I  replied,  "I  should 
be  delighted,  but  Soissons  is  the  front;  I  have 
no  possible  way  of  communicating  with  the  city 
as  you  know." 

"Yes,  quite  right,  I  had  forgotten." 

"How  soon  do  you  need  your  tobacco?  I 
am  going  to  Soissons  next  week,  I  might  see 
what  I  could  do." 

"A  week  is  a  long  time  when  a  hundred  men 

[208] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

are  aching  for  a  smoke.  To-morrow  would  not 
be  too  soon  to  suit  them." 

"The  great  difficulty  is  to  get  a  military 
motor  to  accept  such  an  errand.  They're  so 
busy.  They  might  transmit  the  order,  but  be 
sent  somewhere  else  instead  of  returning  by 
this  direction." 

"If  you  could  find  a  place  for  me  in  one  of 
them  I'd  go  myself  and  take  a  chance  on  get- 
ting back  quickly." 

"Would  you?" 

"Certainly",  I  replied  as  demurely  as  pos- 
sible though  I  must  admit  that  suddenly  my 
heart  began  thumping  so  loudly  in  my  bosom 
that  at  times  I  feared  it  could  be  heard.  It 
was  difficult  not  to  seem  too  anxious  and  by 
an  apparent  desire  for  adventure  thwart  a  plan 
that  had  suddenly  germinated  in  my  brain  and 
made  such  rapid  strides  within  half  a  minute 
that  I  now  found  it  absolutely  imperative  I  go 
to  Soissons.  It  was  a  purely  selfish  idea,  I  am 
ashamed  to  admit.  But  once  in  the  early  stages 
of  the  war  I  had  met  my  husband  in  that  city 
quite  unexpectedly,  and  after  having  said 
good-bye  to  him  forever.  Recently  he  had  been 
promoted  and  his  last  letters  led  me  to  believe 

[209] 


MY    HOME   IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

he  was  again  in  that  vicinity,  so  though  my 
chances  of  encountering  him  were  shght,  I 
was  wilhng  to  risk  anything  to  procure  the 
possibihty. 

It  seemed  to  me  the  Prefet  was  an  extremely 
long  time  coming  to  a  decision.  Yet  I  dared 
not  say  a  word.  Presently  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"It  isn't  done  ordinarily,  you  know." 

I'm  sure  my  face  fell  and  he  saw  it. 

"However,  this  is  not  an  ordinary  situation, 
be  here  at  seven  o'clock  to-morrow  morning  and 
I'll  do  what  I  can  to  find  a  place  for  you  in 
whatever  goes  through  from  here  to  Soissons." 

I  thanked  him  profusely  and  started  down  to 
the  quay  where  my  horse  was  to  meet  me;  it 
seemed  to  me  I  was  walking  on  air,  and  I  am 
confident  joy  radiated  from  every  pore  of  my 
countenance. 

On  my  way  I  met  the  "Medecin  Chef",  to 
whom  I  confided  my  triumph,  and  much  to 
my  dismay  he  didn't  at  all  approve  of  my  being 
allowed  to  ^o  to  the  front,  and  he  didn't  hesitate 
to  say  so.  I  argued,  but  while  he  admitted  the 
tobacco  question  was  a  grave  one,  he  also  re- 
minded me  that  I  had  quite  a  responsibility  on 

[210] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

my  hands  in  the  hundred  and  twenty  men  who 
looked  to  me  to  keep  the  hospital  open,  etc. 
I  was  sorry  I  had  spoken.  This  was  a  lesson; 
another  time  I  would  be  more  discreet. 

On  my  way  home  to  Villiers,  Chou  drew  my 
attention  to  the  fact  that  the  big  guns  were 
more  active  than  in  quite  a  while,  and  by  the 
time  we  had  reached  the  chateau,  the  din  they 
made  was  terrific.  You  could  hear  not  only  our 
guns,  but  those  of  the  enemy. 

*'We  must  have  made  some  very  important 
gains  somewhere  on  the  front",  asserted  the 
doctor,  "or  else  there's  an  attack  in  prepara- 
tion. I've  never  heard  them  shell  Soissons 
quite  so  methodically." 

No  permission  for  me  to-morrow,  thought  I. 
If  such  be  the  case  I'll  never  get  beyond  Cha- 
teau Thierry. 

The  noise  raged  all  night.  Now  accustomed 
to  the  cannonading  it  did  not  prevent  my  sleep- 
ing, but  once  or  twice  I  awoke,  sat  up  in  bed 
and  weighed  my  chances  of  the  morrow's  suc- 
cess. 

It  was  still  dark  when  I  arose  and  put  on 
what  warm  clothes  I  possessed,  and  again  tak- 
ing place  beside  Chou  on  the  front  of  our  cart 

[211] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   EIELD    OF    MERCY 

retraced  the  road  Eastward.  As  dawn  broke 
it  seemed  to  me  the  cannonade  diminished  in 
intensity,  which,  of  course,  argued  well  for  my 
trip. 

I  was  deposited  at  the  city  hall  where  I  had 
my  passport  vised,  and  once  this  formality  ac- 
complished, I  was  ready  to  start.  On  leaving 
home  Maria  had  provided  me  with  a  lunch 
box  which  I  accepted  rather  ungratefully. 
Soissons  is  only  an  hour  and  a  half's  run  from 
the  chateau  in  a  good  motor,  and  arriving  at 
Headquarters  by  seven,  I  hoped  with  luck  to  be 
back  home  for  luncheon,  failing  which  there 
could  be  no  doubt  about  dinner! 

The  morning  came  and  went  and  still  I  sat 
and  waited.  Every  motor  that  had  passed 
through  the  city  was  for  military  purposes 
only ;  not  even  the  possibility  of  standing  in  the 
back  of  one  of  these  covered  trucks. 

At  one  o'clock  I  thanked  Heaven  for  my 
lunch  box,  and  though  ravenously  hungry, 
prudently  ate  but  half  its  contents;  it  was 
just  possible  I  might  need  the  remainder 
later  on. 

Two,  three  then  four  o'clock  dragged  by  and 
still  I  was  a  fixture.     Several  private  motors 

[212] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD   OF    MERCY 

had  passed  but  with  superior  officers  occupying 
the  back  seats,  so,  of  course,  that  didn't  further 
my  departure  in  the  least.  In  the  meantime  the 
bombardment  had  begun  with  renewed  vigour, 
and  with  each  detonation  my  hopes  of  making 
the  boys  happy,  grew  dimmer  and  more  re- 
mote. 

I  was  standing  looking  out  the  window  of 
the  town  hall,  idly  thrumming  on  the  panes 
with  my  fingers  and  watching  the  mist  from 
the  Marne  slowly  envelop  the  sharp  outlines 
of  the  houses,  making  things  more  mysterious 
every  moment. 

"Vite,  vite",  called  a  town  clerk  from  the 
doorway.  "Vite,  vite,  now's  your  chance,  a 
limousine  going  up  to  Soissons  to  fetch  some 
officers.    Quick  and  they'll  take  you." 

As  I  opened  the  outside  door  the  powerful 
headlights  of  a  motor,  whose  engine  I  could 
hear  throbbing,  shot  into  my  eyes  and  blinded 
me.  The  clerk  went  forward  and  began  par- 
leying with  the  drivers,  who  seemed  little 
pleased  at  the  prospect  of  having  a  woman  for 
a  passenger. 

"You're  not  getting  us  in  wrong",  I  could 
hear  one  of  them  say. 

[213] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

"No",  the  clerk  reassured  them.  "No,  her 
papers  and  permit  are  en  regie". 

"All  right". 

"Thank  you". 

In  the  meantime  I  had  clambered  into  the 
back  seat  of  a  most  luxurious  car,  the  door 
slammed  and  we  were  off  for  the  front !  Every 
turn  of  the  wheel  was  bringing  us  nearer  and 
nearer  to  the  theatre  of  war.  It  awed  me  a  bit. 

I  soon  composed  myself,  however,  and  set 
about  noticing  every  detail  as  we  went  along. 
I  was  fully  alive  to  the  fact  that  trips  to  the 
front  are  not  likely  to  befall  the  same  woman 
twice,  and  I  was  anxious  to  make  mental  note 
of  anything  out  of  the  ordinary  that  might 
come  under  mv  observation. 

On  leaving  Chateau  Thierry  it  was  still 
light  enough  for  me  to  see  that  the  fields  on 
either  side  of  the  road  were  much  the  same  as 
in  normal  times.  In  fact  I  was  a  bit  disap- 
pointed that  the  damage  to  farm  houses  had 
been  repaired  so  soon.  The  only  thing  that 
seemed  different  since  I  had  last  travelled  in 
this  direction  was  the  loneliness  of  the  roads — 
in  peace  times  always  alive  with  traffic  and 
pleasure  cars. 

[  214  ] 


THE    LONELINESS     OF     THE     ROADS 

IN    PEACE     TIMES    ALWAYS    ALIVE 
WITH  TRAFFIC    AND    PLEASURE-CARS 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

I  leaned  forward  and  asked  one  of  the 
drivers  why  we  didn't  meet  more  army  supply 
carts,  and  he  replied  that  the  direct  line  from 
Paris  to  the  front  was  through  Villers  Cotter- 
ets,  and  that  though  a  national  thoroughfare 
this  one  was  reserved  for  emergencies,  or  com- 
munication with  the  hospital  centre  at  Chateau 
Thierry. 

As  we  approached  Ouchy-le-chateau,  which 
is  about  half  way  between  Villiers  and  Soissons, 
it  was  still  light  enough  for  me  to  see  that  the 
noise  made  by  our  car  had  drawn  a  sentry  from 
his  box.  He  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
road,  barring  our  path,  his  hands  holding  his 
gun  extended  high  above  his  head.  This  was  a 
signal  for  us  to  stop. 

We  slowed  down,  and  jmnping  from  the 
front  seat  one  of  the  drivers  (they  always  go  by 
twos  in  case  of  accident )  went  up  to  the  sentry 
and  whispered  the  password  into  his  ear.  Im- 
mediately he  lowered  his  weapon  and  accom- 
panied our  man  to  a  little  impromptu  hut  from 
whose  lone  window  streamed  a  ray  of  lamp 
light.  Presently  both  returned  preceded  by  an 
under  officer  who  asked  for  my  papers.  I  pro- 
duced them,  handed  them  out  the  window,  and 

[215] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

then  watched  him  slowly  return  towards  the 
hut.  At  the  end  of  five  or  ten  minutes  our  man 
came  out  and  asked  me  if  I  would  have  the 
kindness  to  step  inside  for  a  moment.  Won- 
dering what  complication  could  have  devel- 
oped, I  gladly  complied  with  the  demand,  and 
as  I  entered  the  door  the  rays  of  the  lamp  from 
which  the  shade  had  been  removed,  made  me 
wince  a  trifle. 

"That  will  do,  thank  you",  said  a  voice  as  I 
blinked  and  opened  my  eyes,  "I  only  wanted  to 
be  quite  sure  you  corresponded  with  the 
photograph  on  the  passport.  Sorry  to  have  in- 
convenienced you." 

"Not  at  all,  sir,"  I  replied  as  I  retraced  my 
steps  toward  the  car. 

On  leaving  Ouchy  although  it  was  almost 
pitch  dark,  we  were  forbidden  to  use  our  head- 
hghts — in  fact  any  hghts  whatsoever.  There 
was  no  need  to  demand  an  explanation,  the 
roaring,  crashing  sounds  made  by  the  heavy 
guns  on  our  immediate  left  told  us  we  were  in 
their  neighbourhood,  though  as  yet  quite  a  dis- 
tance from  the  first  lines. 

Our  speed  was  reduced  considerably,  and  to 
add  to  the  drivers'  discomfort,  a  driving  rain 

[216] 


MY    HOME   IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MEKCY 

had  set  in.  It  was  nearly  seven  o'clock  when 
we  were  again  halted  at  Hartannes. 

"You'll  not  get  into  Soissons  to-night",  was 
the  comforting  remark  of  the  sentry  as  he  re- 
turned my  papers. 

"Why  not?" 

"Can't  you  hear  all  the  music  that's  in  the 
air?  I'll  bet  the  shells  are  dancing  in  the 
streets.    This  is  the  worst  bombardment  yet." 

The  drivers  looked  askance  at  me. 

"Go  ahead  until  some  one  stops  me  defi- 
nitely", was  all  I  said.  The  men  threw  in  the 
clutch  and  we  bounded  forward. 

It  must  have  been  most  annoying  to  drive 
that  huge,  high-power  machine  at  a  snail's  pace. 
All  the  time  it  reminded  me  of  a  thoroughbred 
animal  tugging  to  get  loose  from  its  harness, 
and  ready  to  leap  ahead  at  the  slightest  provo- 
cation. But  in  our  case  prudence  demanded 
that  we  keep  a  tight  rein. 

Emerging  from  a  long  avenue  and  turning 
sharply  to  the  right  we  came  upon  an  open 
road,  and  here  it  was  that  night  that  I  caught 
my  first  vision  of  warfare.  It  was  black  night 
but  looking  behind  me  as  the  noise  of  an  explo- 
sion rent  the  air,  I  could  now  and  again  catch 

[217] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEKCY 

sight  of  a  spark  whizzing  through  the  sky  as  a 
shell  took  its  course  towards  the  enemy's 
trenches,  scarcely  three  miles  ahead  of  us. 

The  sound  of  the  German  guns  was  almost  as 
distinct  as  ours  and  it  was  with  something  of  a 
quiver  that  I  realised  my  position — between 
our  artillery  and  theirs. 

Presently  a  terrific  racket  announced  the 
departure  of  a  heavy  German  shell,  and  not 
many  seconds  later  we  heard  a  crashing  sound 
accompanied  by  a  huge  blaze  that  shot  heaven- 
ward. 

"They're  trying  to  locate  some  particular 
spot",  the  driver  informed  me.  "They're  shell- 
ing with  'Bomhes  eclair  antes.''  Look  there 
goes  another." 

True  enough,  another  and  still  another  fol- 
lowed each  other  in  rapid  succession,  illumi- 
nating the  distant  sky  line  in  a  most  gruesome 
manner.  I  don't  think  I  really  appreciated  the 
gravity  of  the  moment,  though  the  quickened 
beating  of  my  pulse  betokened  my  unconscious 
nervous  condition.  Once  and  once  only  had  I 
ever  seen  anything  that  I  could  compare  with 
it.  As  a  child,  while  living  in  the  suburbs  of 
New  York,  I  had  been  awakened  during  a  hot 

[218] 


MY    HOME   IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MERCY 

Siunmer's  night  by  the  breaking  of  an  electric 
storm.  The  quick  flashes  of  chain  hghtning, 
followed  by  immediate  close  rolling  thunder, 
had  so  terrified  me  that  screaming  with  fright 
I  had  sought  refuge  in  my  mother's  arms, 
where  I  had  cried  myself  to  sleep.  Such  had 
been  the  will  of  our  Creator.  Now  what  I  wit- 
nessed was  the  voluntary  work  of  man.  I  shud- 
dered. Still  the  motor  went  resolutely  for- 
ward. 

Our  pace  was  so  slow  that  presently,  through 
the  din,  I  recognised  the  familiar  tramp  of  feet 
on  the  road,  and  guessed  our  men  were  overtak- 
ing some  soldiers.  In  a  few  moments  we  came 
upon  a  company,  advancing  probably  to  relieve 
their  comrades  in  the  trenches.  They  were 
laughing  and  joking  with  one  another,  the  only 
thing  visible  in  the  darkness  being  the  burning 
tips  of  half  a  hundred  cigarettes.  The  column 
parted  to  let  our  motor  pass  ahead,  and  while 
in  their  midst  another  rocket-shell  burst,  light- 
ing up  the  road,  and  allowing  them  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  my  white  head-dress  in  the  back  of 
the  car. 

"Hi  there,  give  us  a  lift",  called  one  or  two. 

"Look  out  for  my  toes",  shrieked  another. 

[219] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

"Tell  US  where  you're  going  and  we'll  call 
and  leave  our  cards." 

This  unexpected  joviality  was  most  welcome, 
and  a  smile  relieved  the  tenseness  of  the  muscles 
in  my  face.  It  was  unbelievable  that  such  good 
humour  could  exist  right  in  the  very  jaws  of 
death. 

We  crept  on  stealthily,  bumping  from  side 
to  side  over  the  ruts  in  the  road,  now  and  again 
literally  ploughing  through  muddy  slime  that 
came  close  up  to  the  wheel  hubs. 

Suddenly  as  we  were  passing  between  a  row 
of  houses,  a  voice  that  could  be  heard  at  a  much 
longer  distance,  cried  out — 

''Qui  Vive?'' 

''France!"  was  the  immediate  reply  from 
the  front  seat.  My  blood  was  racing  through 
my  veins.  The  moment  was  more  exciting  than 
any  drama  I  had  ever  witnessed. 

"Stop  your  car,  no  one  can  pass  here",  said 
the  voice  as  a  tall  dark  figure  loomed  in  the 
darkness. 

"But  our  papers  are  all  in  order",  protested 
our  driver,  "I'll  get  down  and  show  them  to 
you." 

"Sorry  but  those  are  my  orders." 

[220] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MEKCY 


"We're  only  going  to  Soissons",  continued 
the  chauffeur. 

The  sentry  was  merciless. 

"Pull  over  to  the  side  of  the  road",  he  or- 
dered. "I'll  let  our  ofncer  take  care  of  you  as 
soon  as  he  comes." 

We  obeyed  blindly — there  was  nothing  else 
to  do. 

"Where  are  we?",  asked  the  driver. 

"Vauxbuin,"  came  the  reply.  "Right  on  the 
station  square." 

"Whe^-e's  Vauxbuin?"  growled  number  two. 

"The  last  village  on  the  road  before  you  get 
to  Soissons",  said  I,  proud  of  my  knowledge. 
Then  leaning  my  head  against  the  cold  window 
frame,  I  strained  my  eyes  in  hope  of  recognis- 
ing the  landscape.  In  a  very  few  moments 
things  began  to  take  shape.  Yes,  there  was 
the  station,  the  fountain  in  the  middle  of  the 
square. 

"What's  this  motor  doing  here?"  asked  an 
abrupt,  unfamiliar  voice. 

The  sentry  explained  the  situation,  and  pro- 
ducing an  electric  lamp  from  his  pocket,  an 
officer  of  the  Gendarmes,  or  army  poHce, 
turned  it  on  to  us. 

[221] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

He  asked  us  for  our  papers  and  after  care- 
fully scanning  them,  shook  his  head. 

"Soissons !  Impossible !  You  can't  stay  here 
though ;  roads  must  be  kept  clear." 

No  one  from  within  murmured. 

"Do  you  know  where  the  distillery  is  on  the 
right  of  the  road,  about  quarter  of  a  mile  from 
here?" 

"No  Sir",  replied  our  driver. 

"I  do",  said  I. 

"Can  you  guide  them?" 

"Surely!" 

"Then  off  you  go.  Mind  now,  no  further. 
Turn  into  the  court  yard  and  wait  orders." 

I  felt  relieved,  at  least  we  were  going  for- 
ward. In  one  awful  moment  I  had  feared  lest 
we  be  turned  about  and  sent  homeward.  It 
would  have  been  such  a  pity,  now  that  I  was 
within  sight  of  my  goal. 

We  crawled  along,  finally  reaching  the  gate 
of  the  distillery  where  another  sentry  halted 
us  and  asked  our  mission.  On  explaining,  we 
were  allowed  to  come  in  and  back  up  against  a 
shed. 

The  rain  had  ceased  and  the  cannonade  had 
redoubled  in  violence.     It  was  quite  evident 

[222] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

that  I  stood  little  or  no  chance  of  entering  the 
city  under  present  conditions,  for  it  was  being 
subjected  to  a  perfect  rain  of  steel. 

Across  the  courtyard,  the  main  building  I 
could  see  was  occupied.  Though  every  window 
was  carefully  closed  and  covered  with  dark 
shades  one  felt  that  the  place  was  inhabited. 

We  had  not  been  in  our  position  many  mo- 
ments when  a  horseman  swung  into  the  yard, 
galloped  up  to  the  side  of  the  house  and  throw- 
ing the  reins  over  the  neck  of  his  horse,  entered 
the  door,  which  as  it  opened  let  out  a  flood  of 
light.  Two  minutes  later  another  man  fol- 
lowed him,  and  he  in  turn  was  succeeded  by 
another.  It  was  a  perfect  stream  of  soldiers, 
silently  coming  and  going. 

As  we  sat  still  and  waited  for  something 
more  to  happen,  a  masculine  figure  sauntered 
leisurely  across  the  couii;  and  up  to  the  front 
of  our  machine.  As  he  drew  nearer  I  could  see 
he  was  munching  a  crust  of  bread,  and  pres- 
ently smelled  the  odor  of  garlic. 

"What's  in  there?"  asked  our  chauff em- 
pointing  to  the  distillery. 

"Offices  of  some  kind,  I  think",  came  the 
muffled  reply. 

[223] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

"Don't  you  belong  here?" 

"No,  just  waiting  for  the  chance  to  dehver 
my  munitions." 

With  his  jack-knife  the  speaker  cut  himself 
a  piece  of  bread  and  a  generous  slice  of  sau- 
sage. As  I  let  down  my  window  in  order  not  to 
lose  a  word,  the  wind  wafted  a  spicy  odour  in 
my  direction  and  made  me  remember  my  own 
hunger. 

"What's  the  matter  with  them  to-night?", 
queried  our  man,  nodding  his  head  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  enemy.  "I  never  heard  them  so  noisy 
in  this  sector." 

"Oh,  it  won't  be  long  now",  calmly  replied 
the  other.  "They  probably  got  news  we  were 
moving  troops  and  they've  been  shelling  the 
main  road  for  two  days  steady.  Boys  are  all 
going  up  by  the  masked  lanes,  laughing  at 
them.  Let  'em  waste  their  munitions  all  they 
like!" 

"Is  that  the  reason  we've  been  held  up?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

At  this  point  my  attention  was  directed  to  a 
rosy  glow  behind  me,  and  turning  about 
towards  the  other  end  of  the  long  open  faced 
shed,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  fire  that  was 

[224] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

struggling  into  existence.  A  second  glance 
showed  me  that  for  safety's  sake  it  had  been 
kindled  beneath  the  cover  of  the  shed  itself, 
and  as  gradually  the  light  grew  in  volume,  a 
strange  scene  was  revealed  to  my  wondering 
gaze.  As  though  in  a  dream  I  could  see  long 
draped  oriental  figures  gradually  taking  shape. 
Reclining  on  the  ground,  their  heads  covered 
by  huge  tan  colored  turbans,  they  had  turned 
their  faces  towards  the  welcome  blaze,  their 
shining  brown  eyes  catching  and  reflecting 
every  stray  luminous  ray. 

Slowly  and  with  measured  gestures  each  one 
lifted  a  cigarette  to  his  mouth,  and  let  the 
smoke  fall  leisurely  from  his  lips.  Silence 
reigned.  Their  thoughts  seemed  to  be  going 
outward  with  their  smoke. 

Then,  and  as  though  prearranged,  a  tall 
figure  with  flowing  white  robes  evolved  from 
the  shadow  in  the  background,  his  immaculate 
turban  and  iron-grey  beard  setting  off  his  noble 
brow  and  flashing  eyes.  As  he  gradually  ap- 
proached the  group,  and  his  whole  person  was 
flooded  in  light,  I  could  see  the  Legion  of 
Honor  hanging,  a  scarlet  splash,  against  the 
white  bernous  of  this  Moroccan  Chief. 

[  225  ] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

Following  my  example,  both  chauffeurs  and 
their  munching  companion  had  turned  about, 
and  remained  speechless  at  the  unexpected 
vision  that  met  their  eyes.  Then,  and  as  though 
incapable  of  finding  words  to  express  the  emo- 
tion this  wonderfully  peaceful  oriental  scene 
had  produced  in  his  brain,  our  friend  of  the 
sausage  moved  away,  but  as  he  went  nodded 
his  head  in  the  direction  of  the  Arabs  and  mur- 
mured— 

"They  should  worry." 

Suddenly,  and  when  we  least  expected  it,  the 
bombardment  ceased;  both  sides  halted  a  mo- 
ment as  though  for  breath.  The  cannonade 
was  now  far  distant  on  our  left,  a  mere  echo  of 
what  we  had  endured.  Immediately  in  front  of 
us  the  ceaseless  tac-a-tac-tac-tac  of  a  machine 
gun  was  the  only  sound  of  strife. 

The  supply  waggon  guided  by  our  friend 
rolled  out  of  the  court  and  headed  for  the  front, 
and  almost  immediately  we  were  informed  that 
we  could  pursue  our  course. 

"Hurry  up  now",  continued  the  man  who 
brought  us  our  instructions.  "Hurry  up  and 
get  in  and  get  out  again.    Turn  to  your  left  at 

[226] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

the  first  sentry — use  only  the  masked  roads. 
Good  night  and  good  luck." 

We  thanked  him  and  followed  his  advice, 
turned  to  the  left  into  a  newly  made  winding 
lane  that  zig-zagged  through  private  property, 
and  in  the  daytime  is  hidden  from  the  enemy's 
view  by  a  screen  of  evergreen  trees  cleverly 
disposed  for  that  purpose.  Up  hill,  down  dale, 
we  journeyed,  our  chainless  wheels  slipping 
one  yard  to  every  two  we  advanced.  At  one 
moment  we  reached  the  summit  of  a  small  in- 
cline and  a  dilapidated  mill  came  into  view. 
The  road  led  almost  against  the  building,  and 
as  we  advanced  a  soldier  sprang  from  the  dark- 
ness and  came  running  towards  our  car. 

"Hold  on  a  moment",  he  called,  waving  us 
back.    "Hold  on." 

At  the  same  instant  a  struggling  horse  drag- 
ging a  heavily  laden  cart  appeared  over  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  hill,  and  was  guided  towards 
the  building. 

"All  right,  go  ahead,"  called  the  same  voice, 
and  again  we  started  on  our  way.  Looking 
backward  as  we  passed  beyond  the  mill,  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  open  court-yard  dimly 
lighted  by  the   rays   of  a  lantern.     On  the 

[227] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MERCY 


ground  lay  masses  of  mud-stained  human 
forms,  while  a  soldier  and  a  white  aproned 
doctor  were  gently  lifting  limp  bodies  from  the 
cart,  the  toll  of  the  day's  battle  arriving  at  the 
Dressing  Station. 

On  our  downward  path  we  were  obliged  to 
make  room,  even  in  the  very  narrow  roadbed, 
for  a  long  line  of  stragglers, — ^men  who  having 
been  slightly  wounded,  were  dragging  them- 
selves, and  helping  others  to  the  Poste  de  Se- 
cours. 

Our  next  halt  was  on  the  very  outskirts  of 
the  coveted  city.  The  Gendarmes  once  again, 
and  for  the  last  time,  examined  our  papers. 
We  had  almost  reached  our  goal  and  I  was 
exultant. 

"Go  on  in",  were  the  final  injunctions,  "But 
no  further  than  the  Place  de  la  Bourse.  Mind 
what  I  say." 

In  less  than  ten  minutes  our  auto  came  to  a 
halt  at  the  spot  designated,  and  a  sentry  came 
up  to  see  who  we  were. 

"No  vehicles  allowed  to  circulate  after  dark", 
was  his  reply  to  the  questions  put  by  my  chauf- 
feurs. Reluctantly  I  climbed  down  and  bid 
my  drivers  good-bye. 

[  228  ] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

"It's  not  far  now,  I'll  proceed  on  foot." 

"Hold  on  a  moment,  Madame",  called  the 
sentry.    "Where  are  you  going?" 

"To  Madame  Macherez's." 

"Why  that's  half  a  mile  from  here,  straight 
down  towards  the  river  front." 

"I  know  it." 

"Have  you  got  the  pass  word?" 

"No." 

"Well  then  you  won't  go  twenty  yards.  You 
know  it's  after  ten  o'clock.  Nothing  but 
officers  allowed  in  the  streets." 

My  heart  fell  into  my  boots.  Here  was  a 
predicament.  Should  I  ask  to  be  driven  back 
now  that  after  fourteen  hours  of  weary  waiting 
I  had  almost  reached  my  terminus.    Never! 

"Can't  one  of  you  men  accompany  me  then?" 

"Wish  we  might,  but  we'd  be  very  severely 
punished  if  we  were  caught.  You  can't 
monkey  with  rules  in  war  time." 

I  replied  I  supposed  such  was  true,  and 
stood  there  helpless,  wondering  what  on  earth 
I  should  do. 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  the  hotel  for  the 
night?",  suggested  another  soldier  who  had 
come  upon  the  scene. 

[229] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

"A  hotel?",  I  said  out  loud,  "Didn't  know 
there  was  one!    Is  it  open?" 

"Never  been  shut  to  my  knowledge,  has  it 
Louis?" 

"No." 

"How  can  I  get  there?" 

"Oh,  it's  only  across  the  square.  I'll  be  glad 
enough  to  go  that  far  with  you." 

Through  a  thick  layer  of  sand  that  deadened 
the  sounds  of  our  footsteps  but  made  walking 
most  uncomfortable,  we  trudged  over  to  the 
Hotel  du  Soleil  d'Or.  As  far  as  I  could  per- 
ceive in  the  darkness,  the  place  had  suffered 
little  or  none  in  spite  of  the  many  bombard- 
ments, and  I  said  so  to  my  companion. 

"That's  because  you  can  only  see  the  out- 
side— not  the  in!" 

I  was  obliged  to  take  his  word  for  it.  I 
would  have  time  to  verify  in  the  morning. 

We  knocked  at  the  door.  In  response  we 
heard  a  long  angry  growl. 

"Who's  there?",  called  a  man  from  within,  as 
he  laid  his  hand  on  the  latch. 

"I'm  bringing  you  a  guest.  I'll  vouch  for 
her.    You  can  take  her  in." 

The  door  whisked  open,  an  arm  stretched 

[230] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

out  and  grabbed  me.  A  second  later  I  stood 
inside,  face  to  face  with  the  proprietor  of  the 
hotel,  who  as  sole  means  of  lighting  a  large 
vestibule,  held  in  his  hand  a  tiny  oil  lamp.  To 
his  wife  who  came  hurrying  up  the  corridor,  I 
introduced  myself,  and  recalled  a  visit  during 
the  very  first  days  of  the  war. 

"Yes,  I  believe  I  do  remember  you.  Would 
it  be  impolite  to  ask  you  what  brings  you  here 
now?" 

I  explained  my  mission  which  they  thor- 
oughly comprehended. 

"Plenty  of  time  for  that  to-morrow  morn- 
ing", said  the  woman  as  I  finished.  "Come 
right  upstairs.  You're  probably  as  tired  as  we 
are.  It's  been  so  noisy  we  haven't  slept  a  wink 
for  two  nights.  Have  you  had  anything  to 
eat?",  she  inquired  as  she  led  the  way  to  a  room 
on  the  first  floor. 

"Not  very  much",  I  admitted.  I  was  hungry. 

The  woman  went  to  the  railing  and  called 
"Celine,  Cehne". 

''Oui,  Madame." 

"Make  a  ham  sandwich  and  bring  it  on  a  tray 
with  a  glass  of  milk  to  number  six,  at  once, 
please." 

[  231  ]   ' 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 


That  sounded  tempting,  and  certainly  most 
luxurious  under  the  circumstances. 

I  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  in  a  humble 
hotel  room,  whose  immaculate  scrubbed  floor 
and  spotless  coverlet  were  its  only  redeeming 
features.    I  began  to  remove  my  boots. 

"I'm  sorry  we  can't  make  a  fire,  but  natu- 
rally it  is  forbidden.    The  house  is  very  damp." 

I  said  I  would  not  remove  my  underwear. 

"That's  perhaps  more  prudent  in  case  the 
bombardment  should  recommence  during  the 
night." 

"How  far  are  we  from  the  German  lines, 
here?" 

"About  eight  hundred  yards !",  was  the  calm 
and  casual  answer  from  this  woman  who  spoke 
of  the  enemy  just  as  the  proprietor  of  a  Swiss 
summer  Hotel  indicates  the  direction  of  a  cele- 
brated glacier  or  mountain  peak. 

The  sandwiches  appeared  on  a  tray,  and  as 
I  consumed  them  I  plied  my  hostess  with  ques- 
tions. When  they  had  disappeared  she  took 
her  way  towards  the  door. 

"Look  here",  said  I  as  she  was  about  to  re- 
tire, "I  see  that  you  have  a  heavy  pair  of  cur- 
tains pulled  over  each  window." 

[232] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

"That's  to  prevent  the  light   ..." 

*'I  know,  but  after  I've  put  mine  out,  may  I 
part  them  for  a  breath  of  air?  I  promise  not 
to  do  anything  fooHsh." 

"Promise  me,  won't  you,  because  you  know 
it's  very  serious.  A  ray  of  Hght  from  this 
window  would  not  only  get  me  arrested  as  a 
spy  by  our  own  people,  but  probably  mean 
bombardment  by  the  enemy  who  is  always 
watching  out  for  some  signal  or  other.  I 
hardly  think  you'll  need  to  open  them",  she 
continued,  "They're  as  much  to  prevent  air  as 
light.  There  isn't  anj'thing  but  a  hole  in  the 
place  where  the  windows  used  to  be." 

I  pledged  myself  to  obedience  and  she  left 
me. 

All  of  a  sudden  and  in  spite  of  the  bitter  cold, 
I  suddenly  felt  a  drowsiness  settling  on  me. 
I  finished  a  hasty  toilet  and  climbed  into  bed. 

When  just  dozing  off,  mid  the  most  com- 
plete silence,  a  sharp  rap  on  my  door  roused  me 
to  a  sitting  posture. 

"Come  in",  I  called. 

In  response  to  my  summons  Celine  turned 
the  knob  and  entered.  I  noticed  that  she  car- 
ried a  wash  basin  in  her  hands. 

[233] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

"In  case  it  might  rain  again",  she  explained. 
"You  see  there  is  no  roof  left  on  this  end  of  the 
house  and  it  would  be  very  disagreeable  to 
paddle  around  in  the  wet  tomorrow  morning." 
Setting  the  basin  in  one  corner  of  the  room  she 
departed. 

Five  minutes  later  I  was  sound  asleep. 


[234] 


IX 

Suddenly  I  found  myself  sitting  up  in  bed 
rubbing  my  eyes.  The  room  was  pitch  dark. 
I  only  had  a  very  vague  notion  of  where  I  was. 
Had  I  dreamed  it,  or  was  that  horrible  noise 
a  reality  ? 

A  long  ghastly,  screeching  sound  rent  the 
air.    Whizz Bang ! ! 

The  detonation  came  from  my  immediate 
vicinity.  It  rocked  the  house,  and  a  strange 
clattering  unlike  anything  I  had  ever  heard 
before  arose  from  the  street,  just  below  my 
window.  It  was  as  though  some  one  were 
dumping  a  load  of  stone  and  bricks  from  the 
roof  across  the  way.  Still  not  a  human  voice 
was  heard ;  not  a  cry  of  any  kind. 

Whizz 

Instinctively  I  drew  the  covers  around  me 
and  snuggled  closer  to  my  pillow. 

When  the  shell  burst  I  could  hear  hurried 
steps  in  the  corridor  and  a  loud  tapping  on  my 
door. 

"Madame,  Madame,  wake  up!" 

[235] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

As  though  anyone  could  sleep  with  such  a 
tuniult. 

"Madame,  Madame,  make  haste,  the  bom- 
bardment is  beginning  again.  We're  all  going 
down  into  the  cellar." 

I  stretched  out  my  hand  towards  the  night- 
table  where  I  had  laid  the  matches.  As  I  was 
about  to  strike  one,  I  recalled  my  promise  and 
remembered  the  curtains  were  open.  It  was 
not  until  that  moment  that  I  fully  realised 
where  I  was,  and  under  what  conditions. 

Groping  about  in  the  darkness  I  found  one 
stocking.  The  other,  where  could  it  be?  Ah, 
at  last.  Presently  I  slipped  into  my  corduroy 
skirt,  and  throwing  my  heavy  motor  coat  about 
my  shoulders,  opened  the  door  and  stepped  into 
the  hall. 

The  voice  that  aroused  me  had  continued  its 
rounds  in  the  corridor,  and  evidently  the  hotel 
was  full  of  guests,  for  it  still  went  on  calling 
even  after  I  had  ventured  as  far  as  the  head  of 
the  stairs.  Below  on  a  table  I  could  see  a  little 
oil  lamp  flickering  miserably,  sending  out  puny 
rays  of  light  that  only  half  dispelled  the  dark- 
ness. 

At  the  sound  of  steps  approaching  from  be- 

[236] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 


hind,  I  turned  about  and  beheld  the  dishevelled 
proprietor  of  the  hotel,  candle  in  hand,  followed 
by  a  half  dozen  masculine  figui^es  hastily  but- 
toning on  the  different  parts  of  their  attire  as 
they  hurried  forward.  It  was  the  most  ludi- 
crous noctm-nal  parade  I  ever  hope  to  behold. 

"Swine",  murmured  a  demure  looking  officer 
while  vainly  fumbling  for  his  trappings. 
"Why  couldn't  they  hold  off  for  an  hour  or 
two !  This  is  the  first  night's  sleep  I've  had  in  a 
month!" 

Two  others,  civilians,  said  nothing,  but  evi- 
dently accustomed  to  the  ways  of  the  enemy, 
speedily  made  themselves  presentable. 

Single  file  we  walked  down  a  long  flight  of 
stone  steps  leading  into  the  cellar.  I  doubt  if 
many  Americans  appreciate  what  a  fortress 
such  a  place  really  is;  perhaps  more  so  nowa- 
days since  learning  through  the  newspapers 
that  life  and  occupations  in  cities  like  Soissons 
and  Rheims  have  been  conducted  almost  en- 
tirely underground  during  incessant  bombard- 
ment for  nearly  three  years.  The  cellar  in  the 
Hotel  du  Soleil  d'Or  was  no  exception  to  the 
rule.  Dug  deep  into  the  ground,  say  twenty  or 
twenty-five  feet  below  the  level  of  the  street, 

[237] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

it  had  been  built  to  preserve  an  even  temper- 
ature for  fine  wine,  and  was  admirably  suited 
for  a  refuge  from  the  enemy's  shells.  Daily  as- 
saults having  become  customary,  at  the  end  of 
a  short  time  the  proprietors  decided  that  guests 
who  cared  to  risk  their  lives  by  stopping  at  their 
inn,  ought  to  be  allowed  to  finish  their  night's 
rest  in  peace.  Accordingly  the  red  plush  cov- 
ered benches  from  the  cafe  had  been  brought 
down  stairs  and  stood  in  place  along  the  wall, 
a  row  of  iron  tables  in  front  of  them,  indicating 
that  one  could  obtain  anything  he  cared  to 
order,  just  as  above. 

A  green  shaded  brass  chandelier  illuminated 
by  a  kerosene  lamp,  hung  from  the  middle  of 
the  vaulted  ceiling,  while  a  stove  whose  pipe 
extended  out  through  the  coal  hole  into  the 
street,  was  kept  gently  burning  during  the  en- 
tire Winter. 

In  little  stalls  bricked  on  either  side,  and  in 
which  the  different  kinds  of  wine  are  usually 
kept,  quite  separate  from  each  other,  beds  had 
now  been  set  up.  The  Germans  had  drunk 
this  cellar  dry  of  wine  during  the  twelve  days 
they  had  occupied  the  city,  early  in  September, 
1914. 

[  238  ] 


KNTKANC'i:    TO    TIUO    TRENCHES    NKAIl 
TUK    I'ONT-NEUF,    bOISSONS 


MY   HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

It  was  towards  one  of  these  beds  that  the 
proprietress  led  me,  assuring  me  that  I  need 
have  no  fear,  and  that  it  would  be  wiser  to  sleep 
since  I  was  so  tired.  She  drew  a  curtain  across 
the  front  of  the  little  stall  in  order  to  convince 
me  that  it  was  quite  private. 

But  I  had  no  desire  to  sleep.  My  teeth  were 
chattering  a  bit  with  cold  and  emotion,  and  the 
bombardment  continued  to  rage  without,  grow- 
ing every  moment  in  violence. 

I  took  a  chair  and  seated  myself  by  the  stove. 
Two  officers  had  not  spurned  the  offer  of  beds 
and  retired  almost  immediately,  while  a  couple 
of  civilians  opened  the  board,  shook  the  dice, 
and  began  a  game  of  back-gammon,  while  in  a 
few  moments  a  bright-eyed,  clean  shaven  little 
old  man  brought  out  a  pack  of  cards  and  asked 
the  proprietor  to  join  him  at  Piquet. 

All  at  once,  mid  the  most  fearful  crashing 
racket,  every  person  in  the  room  breathed  forth 
a  prolonged  and  grateful  sigh !    Ah ! 

I  looked  at  the  proprietress  for  an  explana- 
tion. 

"Our  guns  have  begun  firing.  They've  prob- 
ably just  got  the  range." 

She  was  right,  the  sounds  were  now  quite  dif- 

[239] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

ferent,  and  the  players  went  on  with  their 
games,  the  anxious  wrinkles  gradually  disap- 
pearing from  their  brows. 

What  peculiar  satisfaction,  I  thought,  as  I 
pictured  the  astonishment  of  my  friends  when  I 
would  recount  the  details  of  a  night  spent  in 
a  cellar  with  the  French  and  German  armies 
trying  to  annihilate  one  another  ahnost  imme- 
diately above  my  head ! 

"This  is  the  way  we  have  been  living  for  over 
four  months  now",  explained  the  proprietress 
pulling  her  chair  nearer  to  mine.  "At  the  be- 
ginning it  seemed  awfully  queer,  but  now  we're 
used  to  it  we  don't  mind  a  bit."  She  had 
brought  some  mending  and  was  busy  plying 
her  needle  as  she  talked. 

"Does  it  pay  to  keep  open?"  I  asked  quite 
anxious  to  engage  her  in  conversation. 

"Oh,  yes  indeed!  Why  what  would  a  big 
city  like  Soissons  be  without  a  cafe?  When 
you  set  out  to  serve  the  public  you  can't  always 
think  of  yourself  first,"  was  Madame  Poirot's 
simple,  philosophical  reply. 

"We've  been  particularly  fortunate",  she 
continued.  Up  until  now  we've  never  been 
closed,  and  all  the  other  hotel  keepers  have  been 

[240] 


MY   HOME    IN   THE   FIELD   OF    MERCY 

literally  shelled  out  of  business.  Of  course,  we 
have  not  come  off  without  a  knock  or  two,  but 
that's  nothing.  Our  stables  have  been  com- 
pletely demolished  but  we  have  no  more  horses. 
So  what's  the  odds?" 

A  detonation  more  violent  than  anything  we 
had  yet  heard  burst  on  the  air,  and  even  Ma- 
dame Poirot  halted  before  taking  another  stitch. 

"There,  they've  begun  shelling  the  hospital 
again",  said  she,  turning  her  eyes  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  gamesters. 

"No,  not  quite  so  close",  returned  one  of  the 
civilian  players  without  putting  down  his  dice 
box.  "That's  only  the  station.  Hospital  next 
time,  and  our  turn  next." 

Madame  Poirot  resumed  her  sewing,  and 
with  it  the  thread  of  her  story.  I  must  admit 
that  her  calmness  annoyed  me  a  trifle,  and  I 
paid  little  attention  to  what  she  was  saying, 
being  more  interested  in  verifying  the  elderly 
gentleman's  prognostics. 

The  second  crash  came!  Closer  and  louder 
than  its  precedent. 

"Now,  am  I  right?",  asked  the  old  man 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  "Was,  or  wasn't  that 
the  hospital?" 

[241] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

Madame  Poirot  nodded  her  assent  and  con- 
tinued her  work. 

With  a  strange  numb  feehng  in  my  hmbs, 
and  a  sudden  dryness  in  my  throat,  I  awaited 
the  third  arrival. 

A  long,  low,  whining  sound,  then  a  thud  that 
made  everything  sway,  and  finally  a  tearing, 
rattling  din  that  forced  me  to  duck  my  head 
unconsciously,  and  even  caused  the  other  occu- 
pants of  that  cellar-cafe-salon  to  cease  their 
various  occupations  and  look  at  each  other  with 
surprise.  At  the  same  instant  a  noise  as  of 
shelves  of  china  and  glass  being  precipitated  to 
the  ground,  greeted  our  ears. 

''Dufayel's  again",  remarked  the  same  old 
man.  "That'll  give  'em  work  for  the  next  week 
to  come.  You'd  think  the  Boches  knew  they 
spent  all  their  time  fixing  up  the  damage  after 
each  bombardment.  That's  the  sixth  time  this 
Winter." 

"Seventh",  corrected  Madame  Poirot. 

"Good  Heavens,  Madame",  said  I  as  soon  as 
I  could  collect  my  wits.  "How  can  you  hve 
here  under  such  nervous  strain?" 

"And  pray  where  would  Monsieur  le  Prefet 
sleep  every  week  when  he  comes  if  we  were  to 

[242] 


MY    HOME   IN    THE   FIELD    OF   MERCY 

close  up  and  go  away?    And  who'd  take  care  of 
our  regular  boarders?" 

Argument  seemed  futile.  Now  that  the  ten- 
sion was  over,  my  nerves  relaxed  and  the 
warmth  of  the  stove  presently  set  me  nodding. 
As  my  head  pitched  forward  I  caught  myself, 
and  with  a  supreme  effort  sat  up  straight  on  my 
chau\ 

My  movements,  however,  had  not  passed  un- 
noticed by  the  old  servant  Celine,  who  from  the 
very  beginning  had  been  calmly  peeling  pota- 
toes in  the  opposite  corner  of  the  room. 

"It's  almost  over,  Madame",  she  called. 
"They're  bursting  in  another  quarter  alto- 
gether. Pretty  soon  you'll  be  able  to  go  up- 
stairs and  finish  your  night  in  peace." 

"Hope  to  Heaven  you're  telling  the  truth", 
enjoined  the  officer  who  had  bemoaned  his 
broken  rest. 

"You'll  see  I'm  right  sir,  in  a  few  moments." 

We  had  not  long  to  wait,  the  firing  became 
more  and  more  distant,  so  gathering  my  posses- 
sions together  I  started  up  the  stairway.  On 
the  first  step  I  was  halted  by  the  touch  of  a 
hand  on  my  arm. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Madame,  but  I  forgot 

[243] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD   OF   MERCY 

to  ask  whether  you  would  have  coffee  or  choc- 
olate for  breakfast?" 

When  at  length  I  awoke  much  refreshed,  I 
could  hear  a  great  gabbling  of  female  voices 
just  below  my  window.  Looking  out  I  caught 
sight  of  some  two  score  of  women,  who,  market 
baskets  on  their  arms,  were  gathered  together 
discussing  the  events  and  disasters  of  the  night 
just  passed. 

"You  can't  prevent  it",  explained  Madame 
Poirot  when  I  came  downstairs.  "Monsieur 
le  Prefet  has  threatened  to  lock  them  up — the 
military  authority  has  warned  them  that  any 
gathering  is  likely  to  draw  fire  from  the  enemy ! 
Huh !  do  you  think  they  mind  ?  They're  so  glad 
to  be  alive  that  they've  just  got  to  stop  and  talk 
about  it,  and  nothing  will  ever  keep  them  from 
it." 

As  I  tranquilly  sipped  my  chocolate,  the 
proprietress  informed  me  that  fortunately 
there  was  no  civilian  death  to  deplore,  and  after 
paying  my  bill,  I  started  immediately  in  quest 
of  Madame  Macherez.  Since  the  Germans 
had  occupied  her  Chateau  on  the  right  bank, 
she  had  elected  domicile  in  her  son's  home,  just 

[244] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MEECY 

opposite  the  City  Hall,  and  scarcely  a  hundred 
yards  from  the  river. 

As  I  passed  through  the  cafe  on  my  way  out, 
I  could  see  that  in  spite  of  the  early  hour,  busi- 
ness was  flourishing.  There  was  even  a  game 
of  billiards  well  under  way. 

In  the  courtyard  Celine  was  sweeping  up  a 
quantity  of  debris,  and  grumbling  as  she 
worked. 

"What's  the  matter?",  I  asked. 

"Matter",  she  snapped  back.  "How  on 
earth's  a  person  to  keep  a  place  looking  respect- 
able with  those  dirty  Boches  knocking  stuff 
about  every  night?  I've  used  up  three  brooms 
this  year !  I  don't  know  what  Madame  Poirot 
will  say  if  I  ask  for  another  one  just  now!" 

The  street,  though  not  deserted,  hardly  pre- 
sented its  peacetime  aspect.  Once  or  twice  a 
woman  with  her  market  basket  could  be  seen 
coming  or  going,  but  what  lent  the  greatest 
animation  was  some  fifteen  or  twenty  soldiers 
busily  engaged  in  neatly  piling  up  the  wreck- 
age that  had  been  plunged  there  during  the 
night.  The  thoroughfare  at  all  times  must  be 
kept  free  for  the  passage  of  troops. 

One  store  in  every  five  was  open,  while  across 

[245] 


MY    HOME   IN    THE   FIELD   OF    MEKCY 

the  shutters  of  others  was  written  the  words 
"Dwelhng  Inhabited".  Most  of  the  shops,  as 
well  as  little  outdoor  counters,  showed  displays 
of  fresh  vegetables  or  dry  groceries,  while 
others,  such  as  the  Bazaar  distinctly  demon- 
strated the  proximity  of  the  troops  to  whom 
this  "Big  city"  must  have  been  a  paradise. 
Only  wrist  watches,  engagement  rings  and  ac- 
cordions were  on  exhibition. 

The  walls  in  either  side  were  literally  covered 
with  posters  and  public  notices,  dating  before, 
during  and  after  the  German  invasion.  One 
which  I  halted  a  moment  to  read  particularly 
impressed  me  with  the  tyranny  of  the  Hun 
towards  children  and  their  mothers. 

Half  a  block  further  down  I  smiled  as  I 
caught  sight  of  a  white  chalked  sign  which 
read — 

"Safety  cellar  for  the  troops  in  case  of  bom- 
bardment. 

Safety  cellar  for  civihans  also. 

Key  to  be  obtained  on  demand  from  Ma- 
dame Lebe — 61  Faubourg  de  Rheims." 

That  Avenue  was  nearly  half  a  mile  distant ! 

Pursuing  my  course  down  the  long  Rue  du 
Commerce,  I  finally  came  to  the  public  market, 

[246] 


MY    HOME   IN    THE   FIELD    OF   MEKCY 

which  though  covered  with  glass,  had  yet  mirac- 
ulously escaped  the  enemy's  shells.  As  I 
looked  across  the  square  I  caught  sight  of  ten 
or  a  dozen  soldiers  hobbling  or  limping,  while 
behind  them  military  nui'ses  pushed  little  two- 
wheeled  handcarts,  whose  contents  were  cov- 
ered by  a  bit  of  canvas. 

"Wounded  on  their  way  to  the  hospital,"  a 
kindly  soul  informed  me,  easily  recognising 
that  I  was  a  stranger. 

A  moment  later  a  soft  swishing  sound  as  of 
someone  crushing  a  large  piece  of  taffeta  silk, 
made  me  suddenly  look  above  me.  A  sharp  cry 
of  alarm  rang  out  in  the  street,  and  sent  hu- 
mans, like  rats,  scurrying  to  their  holes. 

I  had  barely  time  to  step  into  the  first  shop, 
whose  open  door  offered  shelter,  when  with  a 
bang  and  a  crash,  a  German  shell  burst  on  the 
other  side  of  the  city. 

"Good  morning,  Madame",  cooed  a  little 
gentle  white-capped  woman,  by  way  of  wel- 
coming me  to  her  store. 

"They're  at  it  again",  said  I  indignantly,  al- 
most ignoring  her  salutation. 

"Madame  is  not  from  Soissons?" 

"No,  but  the  suburbs  '' 

[  247  1 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

"Ah,  this  is  rather  a  bad  time  to  have  come 
to  town.  But  you  needn't  be  afraid  here,  my 
httle  back  room  is  as  safe  as  any  cellar." 

"How  long  do  you  suppose  they'll  keep  it 
up?",  I  demanded,  fully  realising  how  inane 
was  such  a  question,  but  putting  it  merely  for 
want  of  something  better  to  say. 

"Ah,  that  I  couldn't  tell",  was  the  polite 
reply.  "I've  heard  that  if  they  continue  this 
much  longer  the  city  will  have  to  be  evacuated. 
It  isn't  safe,  even  for  a  hospital  at  present." 

"Shall  you  go  if  they  do?" 

The  old  woman  shook  her  head. 

"Who  would  take  care  of  my  pets  if  I  did?", 
said  she,  stroking  the  head  of  a  fine  Gordon 
setter,  and  motioning  to  an  alley-way  where 
from  a  half  dozen  bird  cages  the  occupants  sent 
forth  a  cheerful  twitter. 

"No,  no",  she  continued  half  aloud,  half 
soliloquizing.  "I'm  an  old  woman  now.  My 
husband's  buried  in  the  cemetery  here.  These 
are  all  I've  got.  I  couldn't  leave  them.  I'd 
sui'ely  die  without  them." 

The  sight  of  a  blue  uniform  followed  by 
another,  and  then  another,  drew  me  to  the  door 
in  spite  of  the  imminent  danger.    Indian-file, 

[  248  ] 


MY    HOME   IN   THE   FIELD  OF   MERCY 

rifle  in  hand,  a  company  of  soldiers  was  literally 
scraping  the  walls  on  either  side  of  the  street, 
rushing  rapidly  in  the  direction  I  had  been 
headed.  Their  intrepidity  stirred  me  to  do 
likewise.  I  had  enough  of  waiting  around,  I 
should  be  absent  a  week  at  this  rate. 

Decidedly  the  bombardment  was  increasing 
in  violence.  It  was  now  or  never.  The  old  wo- 
man had  guessed  my  intention. 

"There  isn't  much  danger,  Madame.  If  you 
stay  on  the  side  opposite  where  the  shell  strikes, 
there  isn't  any  danger  at  all!" 

Just  what  the  opposite  side  might  be,  I 
didn't  take  the  time  to  ask.  Throwing  her  a 
hasty  adieu  I  started  running  down  the  narrow 
side  walk  much  as  had  done  the  soldiers  a  few 
seconds  before.  I  never  had  been  calmer  in  all 
my  life,  but  obeying  a  natural  instinct  for  pro- 
tection, I  could  not  resist  reaching  back  to  turn 
the  bottom  of  my  motor  coat  over  my  head  and 
shoulders.  I  was  sufficiently  master  of  my  feel- 
ings to  realise  that  this  was  much  in  the  order 
of  the  ostrich  and  the  sand-heap  as  far  as  real 
reasoning  was  concerned,  but  it  afforded  me  an 
infinite  sense  of  security,  and  helped  me  to  span 
the  remaining  hundred  yards  that  lay  between 

[  249  ] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

the  door  I  had  just  abandoned,  and  the  Pubhc 
Square  opposite  the  Rue  du  Coq-Lombard. 

It  was  with  a  decided  sense  of  rehef  that  I 
turned  into  the  Httle  narrow  street  just  as  our 
guns  sent  over  the  first  morning's  greetings  to 
the  Boches  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Aisne. 

Whizz!    Whizz!! 

I  fairly  jerked  the  bell  cord  from  its  socket. 

The  measured  tread  of  sabot  clad  feet  slowly 
crossing  the  court-yard  irritated  my  over- 
strained nerves. 

Whizz  —  Boom! 

I  could  hardly  wait  until  the  door  opened. 
At  last  I  breathed  again !  For  though  no  more 
protected  from  the  rain  of  shells  than  I  had 
been  during  the  past  twelve  hours,  the  idea  of 
having  successfully  attained  my  goal,  blotted 
out  any  other  feelings. 

I  followed  the  maid  across  a  square  paved 
court,  and  was  ushered  into  a  small  drawing- 
room,  where  save  for  the  fact  that  the  window 
panes  had  been  replaced  by  paper,  nothing  in 
the  world  would  have  made  one  think  that  the 
German  trenches  were  scarcely  five  hundred 
yards  distant. 

Each  thing  was  in  its  place,  not  a  speck  of 

[  2.50  ] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

dust  to  be  seen,  and  over  on  a  small  table  near 
the  light  stood  a  tiny  vase  filled  with  Winter 
flowers.  It  was  here  I  was  received  by  Ma- 
dame Macherez,  the  woman  whose  name, 
coupled  with  that  of  Mademoiselle  Germaine 
Sellier,  has  long  been  on  the  tongue  of  every 
man  and  woman  and  child  in  all  the  broad  land 
of  France.  She  and  her  companion  are  na- 
tional heroines,  long  since  decorated  with  the 
War  Cross  for  bravery;  honoured  by  the 
French  Academy  with  the  Prix  Audiffred,  and 
now  on  the  threshold  of  the  fourth  year  of  the 
war,  it  is  wonderful  to  think  that  they  have 
stuck  to  their  posts,  caring  for  the  wounded, 
ministering  to  the  sick,  through  a  thousand 
days  of  constant  bombardment.  So  long  as 
the  annals  of  Soissons  survive,  their  names  will 
be  graven  thereon  in  letters  of  gold. 

Time  and  events  have  on  several  occasions 
procured  me  the  privilege  of  visiting  them 
since  my  hurried  call  on  that  momentous  morn- 
ing preceding  the  Battle  of  Crouy.  I  have  al- 
ways found  them  in  the  same  dwelling,  gradu- 
ally reduced  to  two  rooms,  with  nothing  but 
smouldering  ruins  in  place  of  the  majestic 
buildings  that  once  surrounded  them. 

[251] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

Yet  demoralisation  is  unknown.  A  faith- 
ful servant  serves  meals  regularly  on  a  spotless 
linen  cloth.  The  centre  piece  at  no  matter  what 
season  is  always  orna!mented  by  a  bouquet 
(token  of  gratitude  from  some  soldier  or  civil- 
ian) and  though  oft  times  we  have  been  obliged 
to  take  our  coffee  in  the  cellar,  we  have  never 
ceased  to  laugh  in  derision  of  the  Boches  who 
hoped  to  spoil  our  appetites. 

Of  medium  height,  portly  in  demeanour, 
with  snow  white  hair  and  piercing  blue  eyes, 
Madame  Jeanne  Macherez,  the  widow  of  our 
former  senator  from  the  Aisne,  is  a  woman  well 
over  sixty  years  of  age. 

In  direct  contrast  is  the  svelte  figure,  high 
colored  oval  face  and  flashing  black  eyes  of  her 
companion,  Mademoiselle  Sellier,  a  young  wo- 
man still  in  the  early  twenties. 

The  outbreak  of  the  war  found  Madame 
Macherez,  President  of  the  Local  Chapter  of 
the  Association  des  Dames  Fran^aises  (French 
Women's  War  Relief)  which,  however,  had 
been  a  leading  charity  for  civilians  for  many 
years  past. 

With  Mademoiselle  SeHier  as  secretary  and 
companion,  she  organised  any  number  of  hos- 

[252] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

pital  units  sent  directly  to  the  front,  and  up 
until  the  last  of  August,  1914,  busied  herself 
with  the  ever  increasing  number  of  wounded 
occasioned  by  the  great  retreat. 

On  August  thirty-first,  a  Government  de- 
cree ordered  every  valid  man  between  the  ages 
of  fifteen  and  fifty  to  evacuate  the  city  to  es- 
cape capture  by  the  oncoming  German  hordes. 
Likewise  all  persons  holding  office  were  invited 
to  decamp,  taking  with  them  their  books, 
papers  and  other  valuables. 

This  practically  emptied  the  place  of  men, 
but  it  was  astonishing  the  number  of  women 
and  children  that  remained. 

Quickly  realising  the  gravity  of  the  situation, 
Madame  Macherez  saw  that,  invasion  or  no  in- 
vasion, something  must  be  done  to  forestall  the 
dilemma  of  those  who  had  been  left  behind.  As 
the  only  remaining  official  of  any  kind,  she 
betook  herself  to  the  town  hall,  and  it  was  there 
before  closed  doors  that  the  German  com- 
mander awaited  her  pleasure  on  the  entrance 
to  the  city,  September  1st,  1914. 

"We  want  the  Mayor",  was  the  brutal  de- 
mand, as  the  woman  opened  the  door. 

"I'm  the  Mayor",  was  the  simple  reply. 

[253] 


MY    HOME   IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

The  officer  was  nonplussed  but  quickly  re- 
covered. 

"This  is  no  time  for  pleasantry,  Madame.  If 
what  you  say  is  true  we  shall  deal  with  you  as 
with  a  man." 

"After  what  they  say  you  do  to  women,  I'd 
just  as  soon  you  would,"  was  the  prompt  cour- 
ageous answer. 

The  officers  pretended  not  to  understand  and 
lead  the  way  through  the  empty  offices,  audibly 
expressing  their  disgust  at  finding  them  all 
empty  of  their  precious  papers.  After  install- 
ing their  men  in  the  vacant  places  at  the  end 
of  a  short  time,  Madame  Macherez  was  pre- 
sented with  a  paper. 

"Here  is  the  list  of  what  we  wish  to  levy 
upon  the  city.  Since  you  and  your  companion 
have  volunteered  as  officials,  we  shall  consider 
you  as  hostages,  and  if  what  we  have  asked  for 
is  not  delivered  here  in  the  public  square  by 
five  o'clock  this  evening,  both  you  and  she  will 
be  shot!" 

Mademoiselle  Sellier  goes  on  to  tell  how 
Madame  Macherez  calmly  adjusted  her  spec- 
tacles, and  not  in  the  least  unnerved  by  the 
threat,  proceeded  to  scan  the  paper  from  top  to 

[254] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MERCY 

bottom,  making  pencil  notes  on  the  margin. 
She  read  and  reread  it  several  times.  Then  ris- 
ing she  went  over  to  the  officer,  and  in  the  cool- 
est manner  possible  proceeded  to  inform  him 
that  there  was  just  one  thing  he  had  forgotten 
on  his  list. 

"And  what  may  that  be  Madame?" 

"The  moon",  was  the  daring  reply  which 
startled  the  man  who  could  hardly  beheve  he 
understood  aright. 

"It  would  be  just  as  easy  for  me  to  procure 
you  the  moon  or  stars",  the  woman  continued, 
"as  to  reply  with  my  life  for  such  provisions 
as  you  demand.  Believe  me  sir,  I  have  lived  in 
this  city  sixty  years.  I  realise  that  in  normal 
times  it  might  just  be  possible — but  consider- 
mg  that  hardly  a  valid  man  remains,  it  were 
hopeless  to  think  of  obtaining  half  you  ask." 

The  officer  realised  her  sincerity,  and  not 
being  a  fool,  asked  what  she  might  suggest. 

"I  propose  that  you  allow  me  to  make  a  list, 
which  will  be  a  personal  appeal  to  every  citizen 
in  my  city.  You  shall  verify  and  I  will  sign  it, 
and  in  an  hour's  time  every  bill-board  in  Sois- 
sons  shall  bear  witness  of  my  willingness  to  pro- 
tect my  compatriots  by  serving  you." 

[255] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

Her  advice  was  carried  out,  and  needless  to 
say,  long  before  the  appointed  hour  the  little 
Square  in  front  of  the  City  Hall  was  piled  high 
with  the  spoils  that  war  gave  an  invading  army 
the  right  to  levy  on  humble  French  toilers. 

Among  my  trophies  to-day  is  a  much 
weather  beaten  poster  which  I  soaked  care- 
fully from  the  wall  during  my  last  visit,  and 
shall  always  cherish  as  a  remembrance  of  a 
French  woman's  courage. 

Inch  by  inch  she  wrestled  with  the  obnoxious 
invader,  ceding  her  rights  only  under  the  men- 
ace of  instant  death,  and  never  hesitating  to 
say  frankly  what  she  thought  of  their  barbaric 
ways. 

It  is  little  wonder  then  that  she  is  adored  by 
the  entire  civil  population  for  whose  welfare 
she  risked  her  life.  On  the  return  of  our  glori- 
ous troops  she  took  her  mission  of  mercy  among 
them  as  quietly  as  though  nothing  had  hap- 
pened, untiring  in  her  efforts  to  procure  them 
the  necessary  comforts. 

Up  until  the  last  few  weeks  (June,  1917) 
real  hospital  work  has  been  almost  impossible 
in  the  martyr  city,  but  the  refugees,  who  as 
stragglers  or  in  bands,  have  been  returned  to 

[256] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD   OF    MERCY 

our  territory  through  gradual  or  monster  offen- 
sives, all  know  the  way  to  the  Rue  du  Coq- 
Lombard,  and  all  are  unanimous  in  their  praise 
of  its  lone  inhabitants. 

Such  was  the  woman  who  greeted  me  on  that 
cold  January  morning. 

"Delighted  to  see  you,  Madame  Huard,  al- 
though I  imagine  that  it  is  du-e  necessity  which 
procures  me  the  pleasure.  What  made  you 
choose  this  day  of  all  days?  Everything  leads 
us  to  beheve  that  a  big  battle  is  beginning,  and 
I  have  just  received  orders  to  evacuate  my  hos- 
pital in  the  college.  The  civilians  may  possibly 
be  obliged  to  go  too." 

I  explained  my  mission. 

"Yes,  surely,  you  can  have  all  our  tobacco 
now.  Come  over  to  the  College  at  once  and 
we  will  make  arrangements  for  your  return 
trip." 


[257] 


X 

What  a  mad  dash  we  made  to  reach  the  Col- 
lege. The  shriek  of  shot,  and  screeching  of 
projectiles  as  they  passed  none  too  far  above 
us,  made  it  impossible  to  hold  one's  head  erect. 
Shrapnel  pattered  like  rain  upon  the  roofs, 
while  without  the  slightest  warning  shutters 
and  chimneys  would  disintegrate  and  fall  into 
the  street  before  us,  blinding  us  with  the  debris. 
As  each  new  detonation  announced  the  depart- 
ure of  a  heavy  shell  we  would  flatten  ourselves 
against  the  wall,  clinging  there  in  terror  until 
a  few  seconds  later  we  realised  that  our  last 
moment  had  not  yet  come. 

Most  of  the  firing  seemed  to  be  aimed  at  our 
unfortunate  Cathedral,  which  stood  broadside 
to  the  enemy,  though  from  the  clouds  of  dust 
that  arose  after  each  explosion,  one  could  tell 
they  had  fallen  wide  of  their  mark,  doubtless 
annihilating  some  minor  building  completely. 

The  courtyard  in  the  College  presented  a 
wild  scene  of  animation.  A  shell  had  just 
fallen  in  the  very  centre  smashing  an  ambu- 

[  258  ] 


t--=^ 


M-^^^' 


./     , 


r'^' 


^i. 


"\^ 


CALM   AMID    THE   GENERAL    TUMULT 


MY    HOME   IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 


lance  and  digging  its  way  into  the  ground  so  as 
to  form  a  crater.  On  every  side  other  cars 
were  backed  up  and  being  filled  with  white 
faced  wounded  men  whom  the  infirmiers 
carried  out  on  stretchers  and  thrust  into  the 
vans. 

Officers,  calm  amid  the  general  tumult,  stood 
and  verified  the  contents  of  each  ambulance, 
which  as  soon  as  filled  was  cranked  up  and 
rushed  out  of  the  city. 

Another  shell  had  exploded  in  the  Chapel, 
and  half  a  hundred  men  were  vainly  struggling 
to  save  their  comrades,  who  pinned  beneath  the 
wreckage,  were  shrieking  with  pain  and  de- 
spair. 

Madame  Macherez  looked  worried,  and  in- 
deed there  was  cause.  I  almost  regi-etted  hav- 
ing come  for  my  presence  had  only  added  to  her 
anxiety. 

"Follow  me",  she  said  gathering  her  skirts 
about  her  and  hurrying  down  the  long  hall.  At 
the  very  end  she  turned  abruptly  and  entered  a 
darkened  room  which  seemed  surrounded  by 
cupboards. 

"Where's  Gilbert?"  she  demanded  of  an  In- 
firmier  who  hurried  past  the  door. 

[  259  ] 


MY    HOME   IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

"Caught  in  the  Chapel,"  came  the  reply,  as 
the  fellow  sped  on  his  way. 

"Stop",  cried  the  woman  imperiously.  The 
man  obeyed. 

"Get  me  two  men  with  guns  to  break  in  these 
doors.  Gilbert  probably  has  the  keys  on  him 
so  it's  useless  to  wait." 

As  we  stood  there  neither  of  us  spoke  and  the 
roar  of  battle  even  di'owned  our  thoughts.  I 
feel  certain,  however,  that  neither  she  nor  I 
had  the  slightest  fear.  We  were  merely 
anxious  to  accomplish  our  tasks  as  rapidly  as 
possible. 

The  soldiers  appeared,  and  in  spite  of  the 
gravity  of  the  moment  I  could  not  help  re- 
gretting the  circumstances  that  made  necessary 
the  destruction  of  those  wonderful  oak  panelled 
doors.  It  was  particularly  distressing  to  have 
to  do  it  ourselves  when  the  Germans  had  al- 
ready caused  so  much  damage.  A  spark  of 
anger  kindled  in  my  breast  at  the  apparent  joy 
with  which  the  soldiers  set  to  their  task. 

In  a  short  time  mid  splinters  of  oak  a  hole 
revealed  the  neatly  packed  tobacco. 

"Go  and  ask  Albert  for  four  canvas  bags, 
ration  bags,  and  don't  be  gone  an  hour",  or- 

[260] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

dered  Madame  Macherez.    The  wreckers  dis- 
appeared returning  promptly  with  the  sacks. 

"Now  then,  pile  them  full",  said  she,  desig- 
nating the  tobacco  to  the  soldiers,  who  lost  no 
time  complying  with  the  request. 

"You  can't  possibly  get  away  with  more  than 
four",  explained  my  companion.  "As  it  is  I 
can't  quite  see  how  you're  going  to  get  away 
at  all,  but  then   .    .    . " 

We  retraced  our  steps  in  the  corridor,  the 
soldiers  dragging  behind  them  the  bags  which 
they  had  firmly  closed  by  a  bit  of  string. 

The  same  excitement  was  prevalent  every- 
where as  the  evacuation  rapidly  progressed, 
but  to  the  din  was  now  added  the  lamentations 
of  the  civilians  who  were  being  hurried  into 
huge  ten  seated  motors  drawn  up  below  the 
College  wall.  The  Sous-Prefet  was  on  the 
spot  to  see  that  all  obeyed  orders,  but  his  pres- 
ence did  not  diminish  the  cries  of  those  who  had 
but  a  moment's  warning,  and  were  given  no 
time  even  to  collect  even  their  most  precious  be- 
longings. 

"Where  are  you  sending  us?  How  long 
shall  we  be  away!",  wailed  one  woman  with  a 
baby  on  her  arm. 

[261] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

"Freddie's  gone  for  the  milk,  can't  leave 
without  him.  He's  my  only  child,"  shrieked 
another. 

A  young  girl  and  a  very  old  woman  ap- 
peared bearing  a  cripple  in  their  arms.  The 
tears  were  streaming  down  the  old  woman's 
face. 

"No  animals  allowed",  growled  a  sentinel  as 
an  elderly  woman  sought  to  take  her  place  with 
a  bird  cage  and  a  cat.  She  climbed  down  and 
walked  away. 

In  one  corner  a  couple  silently  bid  each  other 
adieu.    The  man  remained  behind. 

''En  avant,  en  avant",  urged  the  soldiers. 
"Push  up  now,  .there  is  room  for  another. 
Never  mind  if  you're  crowded.  The  essential 
is  to  get  away." 

The  car  started  only  to  be  replaced  by  an- 
other. 

Madame  M archerez  after  a  moment's  parley 
with  the  Sous  Prefet  came  back  to  where  I 
stood. 

"Quick",  said  she  turning  to  the  soldiers, 
"Hoist  those  bags  on  to  the  front  seat",  and 
then  to  me.  "This  goes  by  way  of  Chateau 
Thierry.    They'll  drop  you  there." 

[  262  ] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

I  grasped  her  hand  and  a  second  later  clam- 
bered into  my  seat,  along  with  forty  other 
weeping,  vociferating  humans. 

The  engine  sputtered  and  slowly  we  left  the 
scene  of  desolation,  which  was  repeated  again 
and  again  at  eveiy  street  comer,  on  every 
Pubhc  Square  until  we  had  left  the  city  of  sor- 
row far  behind. 

As  the  morning  advanced  the  occupants  of 
the  bus  grew  calmer,  all  save  an  auburn  haired 
girl  who  sat  next  to  me,  had  regained  their 
natural  state.  But  the  poor  child's  shoulders 
heaved  and  heaved,  and  her  suppressed  sobs 
told  of  her  distress. 

"What's  the  matter?",  I  queried  gently,  lift- 
ing her  head  from  her  damp  handkerchief.  A 
pair  of  big  brown  wistful  eyes  set  in  a  pink  and 
white  baby  face,  looked  up  in  wonder  at  my 
question. 

"I  couldn't  find  mamma  to  say  good-bye,  she 
won't  know  what  has  become  of  me."  And  the 
tears  flowed  afresh. 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Have  you  no  friends  or  relatives  elsewhere 
than  Soissons?" 

[  263  ] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

"No." 

"How  old  are  you?" 

"Sixteen." 

"Have  you  any  money?" 

"Not  a  centime.  I  didn't  even  have  time  to 
take  my  warm  coat."  A  shiver  ran  up  and 
down  the  child's  back.  I  unfastened  my  muf- 
fler and  wound  it  around  her  neck. 

"But  what  shall  you  do  if  you  are  dropped  in 
some  strange  place?" 

"I  don't  know.    Seek  work  or  starve!" 

The  case  was  exceedingly  pathetic. 

"Have  you  ever  worked  before?" 

"Oh,  yes,  my  mother  taught  me  how.  I  used 
to  help  Madame  Macherez." 

Ah,  here  at  last  was  a  bond  between  us.  A 
new  light  came  into  the  girl's  frightened  eyes  as 
I  told  her  I  knew  our  common  friend. 

"I  don't  live  far  from  here,  would  you  come 
home  with  me,  and  help  in  my  hospital?  It's 
little  I  can  promise." 

"Gladly,  Madame." 

"Very  well  then,  get  down  at  Chateau 
Thierry  when  I  do." 

The  cannonade,  which  had  redoubled  in  force 
together  with  the  arrival  of  the  first  omnibus 

[  264  ] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

filled  with  dishevelled  refugees,  had  created 
much  excitement  in  Chateau  Thierry.  On 
leaving  Soissons  something  had  happened  to 
the  machinery  of  our  car,  and  it  was  well  into 
the  afternoon  when  we  crawled  into  our  hos- 
pital centre.  The  crowd  gathered  round  the 
motor  pressing  each  one  with  questions. 

"Where  are  they  taking  you?" 

"We  don't  know.  Somewhere  out  of  the 
army  zone  without  doubt." 

"Has  the  whole  place  been  evacuated?" 

"Yes   .    .    .   no." 

"And  our  men,  are  they  holding  the  front? 
A  few  moments  ago  it  seemed  as  if  the  noise 
was  advancing  in  this  direction.  Do  you  think 
they'll  break  our  lines?  It  won't  be  another 
retreat  of  the  Marne  will  it?" 

The  Prefet  elbowed  his  way  through  the 
crowd,  and  was  astonished  to  see  me  step  from 
the  motor. 

"I've  adopted  this  child,"  said  I  pointing  to 
my  shivering  companion.  "There's  no  reason 
why  I  shouldn't  take  her  home  with  me,  is 
there?" 

"No  indeed.    Have  you  got  your  tobacco?" 

"Yes." 

[265] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 

"Good." 

"May  I  ask  you  to  telephone  for  my  cart  to 
come  and  fetch  me." 

"Surely." 

Our  horse  had  been  sent  on  an  errand  to  La 
Ferte  and  for  five  hours  Marcelle  and  I  sat 
and  waited  in  the  dingy  hallway  of  the  pre- 
fecture, the  four  huge  sacks  of  tobacco  being 
the  only  things  that  consoled  me  for  the  time 
lost.  As  night  came  on  the  booming  of  the 
guns  became  more  and  more  intense.  A  fright- 
ful battle  must  now  be  raging,  and  I  trembled 
for  Madame  Macherez  and  her  brave  helper. 

Weary  of  inaction  I  went  and  stood  on  the 
Pubhc  Square  where  our  'bus  had  halted,  eager 
as  were  the  others  for  news  from  those  who  had 
left  Soissons  since  my  departure. 

"They've  cut  the  dykes." 

"The  whole  of  St.  Vast  is  flooded.  The  city 
is  in  flames." 

This  and  other  similar  encouraging  informa- 
tion spread  through  the  crowd  and  made  us 
shiver. 

The  drive  in  our  rickety  old  farm  cart 
seemed  interminable,  and  I  was  surprised  at 
finding  no  one  to  greet  me  on  my  return  from 

[266] 


MY    HOME   IN    THE   FIELD   OF   MERCY 

SO  perilous  a  journey,  so  depositing  my  new 
maid  and  the  tobacco  in  the  kitchen,  I  hastened 
to  the  wards,  when  a  glance  showed  me  why  my 
nurse  had  not  been  able  to  leave  for  even  a 
second. 

"The  sound  of  the  guns  has  crazed  them. 
Some  one  started  a  panic  by  shrieking  the  Ger- 
mans had  broken  through  our  lines.  They 
imagined  they'd  been  forgotten." 

From  the  next  room  a  hoarse  voice  called 
out — 

"Are  you  all  deaf  boys,  can't  you  hear? 
They're  bearing  down  on  us,  don't  let's  stay 
and  be  slaughtered.  If  I  lead  will  you  follow? 
Where  are  our  guns?  Who's  taken  my  shoes?" 

All  during  the  night  we  went  from  bed  to  bed 
comforting  and  consoling,  arguing  and  affirm- 
ing that  of  which  we  ourselves  were  none  too 
sure. 

Two  days  later  the  papers  announced  the 
victory  of  our  arms  at  Hill  132. 

Weeks  sped  by  and  nothing  further  seemed 
to  mar  the  regularity,  or  particularly  enliven 
the  monotony  of  our  hospital  routine. 

With  plenty  of  tobacco  and  the  days  grow- 

[267] 


MY    HOME    IN    THE    FIELD    OF    MERCY 


ing  longer  and  brighter  the  lads  seemed  to 
grasp  themselves  more  firmly,  to  be  more  will- 
ing to  make  a  fight  for  their  existence.  From 
what  I  could  learn  the  epidemic  itself  was  now 
well  in  hand,  and  we  would  probably  be  allowed 
to  keep  our  patients  through  their  convales- 
cence later  on. 

Several  changes  took  place  in  our  domestic 
staff.  The  Heavenly  Twins  being  now  con- 
sidered fit  to  join  their  regiments,  left  us  mid 
the  general  lamentations  of  the  entire  hospital, 
both  promising  to  abandon  their  former  careers 
to  return  and  work  for  us  at  Villiers  when  the 
war  should  be  over. 

This  set  Barbarin  to  thinking,  and  in  a  burst 
of  emotion  he  confided  to  me  that  he  had  had 
enough  of  the  "Free  life",  and  would  now  be 
content  to  enter  the  domestic  service  as  major- 
domo,  or  head  butler  to  some  kind  American. 

The  calm  after  a  storm  told  swiftly  on  my 
physical  condition  and  I  realised  I  had  been  liv- 
ing on  my  nerves.  I  was  pronounced  a  fit  sub- 
ject for  the  operating  table,  and  to  my  dismay 
was  informed  that  it  was  not  at  home,  but  in  a 
private  hospital  in  Paris  that  my  annoying  ap- 
pendix was  to  be  removed. 

[268] 


MY    HOME   IN    THE   FIELD    OF    MERCY 

I  had  planned  my  departure  so  as  to  disturb 
no  one,  but  when  the  motor  that  had  called  for 
me  at  a  little  side  gate  passed  over  the  bridge 
onto  the  main  road,  I  looked  back  and  saw  them 
all  standing  on  the  steps  waving  me  a  fond 
Adieu,  and  for  want  of  something  more  appro- 
priate shrieking, 

''Vive  la  France.''' 


\ 


[269] 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW. 


lOm-12,'67  (H6886s8)  9482 


Ji 


UCSOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


THE 
[DTE  HOUSE 
N  FRANCISCO 


^WiiiSP^liiiliiil 


